


Chaos Parallels

by Replika (orphan_account)



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst and Porn, Because of Reasons, C137cest, Character Study, Consensual Sex, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Humor, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Incest, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Past, Pining, Plot Twists, Slow Build, Slow Burn, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:53:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28177941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Replika
Summary: It's never clear if it's something he wants, something the other wants, or neither of them want.---Or briefly: Rick dies for the umpteenth time and Morty is tasked to clone him again. But in order to do that, Morty needs a specific vial that contains Rick's memories.And Morty is a teenager. A teenager that does not know what to make of the intricate affection/rejection he feels for his grandfather.And you don't just entrust your memories to a teenager teeming with questions... Or do you?
Relationships: Rick Sanchez/Morty Smith
Comments: 35
Kudos: 84





	1. Unfathomable

**Author's Note:**

> ⚠️ Warning ⚠️
> 
> This fic contains incestous intercourse with a minor. If it's a thematic that triggers you drop the fic immediately.
> 
> \- 
> 
> Hi. Yup. New leaf in the fandom and honestly this is just self-indulgent stuff I wanted to write to get this out of my system. I have pretty much all the story figured out and I'm writing it at a nice steady pace. 
> 
> Comments are greatly welcomed!
> 
>   
> 
> 
>   
> Art by me 

Salt laps at his split lip, salt that is not his. Or maybe it is. Because there's no point in admitting it does not when it could be. Gravel crunches under his knees, which are dragged, dragged, dragged.

"Slowin' you down, ain't I?" Over the cinematic explosions at their back, his unaffected tone probably sounds like an overlapping voiceover recorded by mistake. He thumbs the cap of the silver flask open with a snap, chugging down the contents in the run… which is not a run. More like a slow, pompous parade towards death.

"A-a-a-aren't you a bit too relaxed f-f-for one who's on the brink of death, Rick?! I-if you're this comfortable y-you c-could-" The kid yells, or cries, or cry-yells. Whatever. He just knows his voice is fucking unbearable this close, shrieking and everything against his eardrums.

"Right." He gives a once over to the emptied flask and tosses it over his shoulder. It bonks against the mug of one of the ravenous creatures foaming behind them. Frazzles with sparkling statics for a second, then kaboom. The recoil sends both of them flying and barrelling down a slope.

Morty loses the grip on him too easily and too fast.

When the maelstrom of dust settles, the brat stands up, wobbling. "Ow-o…y...you… piece of…"

"Yeah, yeah" he waves a hand, noncommittally. "You're welcome-"

"My ass!" The boy can't even limp decently but pretends to be mad at him anyway. "Y-you did this on purpose, Rick! You always do this on purpose w-w-when I'm the one picking the adventures!"

"Y-yeah Morty, I love boring holes i-in my chest j-just for the fun of it. Now stop being a bitch a-and gimme a hand." The bitter tang of blood ruins the aftertaste of whiskey. Too bad. He spits on the ground, wiping the dribble of bile from his mouth with the burnt sleeve of his coat, and outstretches it later.

Morty stomps towards him just to slap his limb away.

"I could believe that! S-sure, Rick! Let's just get the f-fuck outta here… y-you ruined everything anyway!"

And with a scowl he's gone, leaving Rick sitting in a pool of blood, staring at the brat's back nonplussed. "Activate epithelial tissue reconstruction." He murmurs, like an automaton. Whilst a fleet of nanobots takes care of his wounds, he grabs a spare flask from one of his pockets; carding a bloody hand in his hair. "Fuck."

\---

The flyback at home is - as it is in most of the cases - made of silence filled with the low thrumming of…

"What's with the queue-at-the-super soundtrack?" He grimaces, leaning out to shuffle the shit to another station.

But his attempt is deterred by Morty, whose hand cups the radio button. "I like it." He glares.

"A-are you fucking kidding m-"

"Maybe? M-m-aybe not? But who cares, R-Rick? Y-yo-you're going to guilt-trip me, aren't you? B-b-because that's what you do best!" Morty whips his head towards the window, and sinks in his seat, squaring his shoulders.

"Holy shit, Morty. D-d-did you fucking drink pussy juice or something this morning? 'Cause I detect a shitload amount of estrogens where they shouldn't be."

When silence ensues, the line of Rick’s shoulders droops. "N-nevermind. Nobody expected you to get-” suddenly his airways feel constricted, he can’t speak, he can’t fucking breathe. There’s just a copious amount of blood gripping at his throat like vomit and his hand slaps on his mouth as soon as it starts dribbling out of it.

“Rick! Wh-wh-what the…"

It takes a flick of his eyes in the right direction to tell Morty to stop trashing like a violated virgin for something he's seen countless times and get a hold of the situation. "O-oh man," And he does. "Ship. Launch backup 126β5."

In a few seconds, the command panel switches places, and the wheel in front of Rick retracts just to be spat out in front of Morty with a lazy whirring sound. The kid steers the cloche like a pro, and Rick's burning-with-bile-and-blood throat chokes out a gloat of pride.

It's the last thing he sees before everything turns black.

\---

It doesn't really matter how many times it happened, the concept of mortality is so deeply rooted in Morty that he can't ignore he's flying around in the void of space with the corpse of his grandfather lolling into a corner like a deflated marionette. It's still terrifying and anxiety-inducing. And his hands shake around the wheel like tails of rattling snakes.

Another inevitable feeling he can't shake off is that this is all his fault. He glances at the unmoving body and dread coils around his galloping heart like shackles. He knows what he has to do, and even if he didn't know, there would still be instructions for it. Because there isn't a single scenario Rick hasn't already forewarned or gone through. He already took a sample of his DNA and tossed the gun in the backseat… so he could just eject the corpse in the vacuum of the universe and call it a day.

But…

He closes his eyes and inhales, shakily. If there's one positive thing about Rick being dead is that he cannot talk back. It's something that he does when he's sure his pulse is completely gone and that he is, in fact, just a corpse.

He makes sure to land somewhere on the crust of a small planetoid devoid of life. Drags the corpse out of the ship and far enough to evade every instance of being recorded and kicks it in the ribs so hard that already fractured bones give way under the angry pressure.

"Y-you know? You're a fucking piece of shit. S-such a bi-big turd that shit itself would feel revolted o-of smelling you. Y-you… ruined my life. My fucking life that was great before you came. Do you think you're great Rick? W...well..."

He kicks again and again and again until one of the arms of the lifeless body breaks and splatters beneath his foot. Gore spills on his shoe and shirt and face and it feels so fucking good!

"I'm tired of your shit! I'm… I'm tired of you and your fucked up god complex. I'm tired o-of being dragged around just to satisfy your whims a-and lack of thrill. I-I'm tired of being destroyed and built back like a toy! I hate that I'm losing my fucking h-humanity and I hate you! I hate you! I want to leave you dead forever… I want…"

But then, his anger deflates like a punctured balloon and his shoulders sag. It doesn't feel that great anymore. Not satisfying in the least. He did this so many times… that it started to feel dull like many other things. "I want praise." He murmurs. "I-I want… you to be proud of me." Yeah, that's very embarrassing to say… even to a corpse.

But he can't say that to Rick. Because probably, the only pride in Rick's life is ruining everyone's else. He gives a little, pathetic nudge to Rick's entrails, that now spill from his chest like those of guttered cattle. "W-will you ever like me… as...as much-"

He gulps down the unbearable knot that's preventing him to finish the sentence. He's sick. So sick. So sick. And the thought of being so sick makes him sicker to the point that he throws up. And the burning sensation in his throat is just a friendly reminder that his body and mind are rejecting what his mouth says with a passion.

"Of course not." He spits on the corpse. "You don't give a crap." And he shouldn't too. Not really. He could just go back and destroy the gun with the sample and live a normal life like the other thousand and thousand Rickless Mortys. But at some point in his reality, Rick has morphed abnormalcy into normality. It's worse than being high on whatever interdimensional crap he's been accidentally or purposely fed. Liking Rick, with all the consequences the word like entails, it's not just wrong or sick or toxic… it's suicide.

It's not the stuttering like, heart-thumping adoration he reserves to his Jessica.

It's not the piteous regard that he feels for Jerry, nor the embarrassing stem-like naive love he gives to his mom.

Not even the protective, whimpering like/dislike Summer yanks from his chest from time to time.

It's neither of them because he can't see Rick as family or potential lover. He's _nothing_. A suspension of reality that has taken human form. He just happens to share his same blood for some unfortunate twist of spetmatozoons. He just happens to be a total stranger that forced his life into Morty's life like a virus with no cure. A virus that kills slowly and cruelly and makes you feel all the pain and aches of his corruption.

He doesn't know where to place him. He's too young and naive and hasn't lived enough to understand that. He just knows that sometimes he wants Rick out of his life forever and some others, the thought of losing him crushes his lungs with sobs he doesn't let out.

That's… that's what his mother must feel. It's easy to fall for the crumbs of affection he gives, making you believe that's a lot when instead it's nothing. And when you realize the real size of his consideration, you just starve for more. And he makes you starve until you're half dead just to let you get a sniff, not even a sample, of his wretched love. Just to eat a mouthful of your adoration, in your face, with a disgusted grimace throning on his mouth.

So how can he like… whatever that word means, someone like Rick?

Why does he like him, if even his fucking corpse stares at him with the same listless-like expression? Even dead, Rick, doesn't give a fuck. That's his motto, a raison d'être. And Morty, Morty would like to be just like him sometimes… be able to not give a fuck.

But he can't.

In fact, he goes back to the ship and dejectedly pushes the trunk open, selecting a particular vial from the portable lab compartment. Lets a few drops fall on the ground, and the latter collapses on itself and bubbles like quicksand. Careful to not fall inside, Morty circumvents it and walks to the corpse, dragging it by the leg until it's close enough to the bubbling ground to kick dead Rick in. Why would he bury what for Rick is nothing but a useless, interchangeable shell? He doesn't know, really. But it's become a sort of habit since the day they did escape the Cronengberged reality. It… it just feels _right_.

He stands there, watching as the planet devours the last limb of Rick… and feels like another tiny shred of heart goes away with it. It feels like this every time.

When he's back to the ship, he just slams the door behind him and starts the engine, barely stealing a glance at the portal gun sitting on the dashboard, still glowing a faint green.

Someday it will feel like this.

Someday… there won't be any Rick sitting next to him… forever. And that will be the best and worst day of his life.


	2. Con(science)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd reeeeeally like to know what you think about this. Constructive criticism is super welcome!

The engine chaffs shut and his feet catch on a random empty bottle of liquor that's rolled on his side on the descent, he almost tumbles out of the ship with it. 

Eyes downcast, Morty stares at his shoes and their shadow stretching on the illuminated driveway. The silence is nice. Almost too nice. Actually… so nice that he might get used to it… _again._ For once it's just past midnight and he has all the night ahead to refill his quota of lost sleep. On his way toward the garage, the kid lifts the gun he's holding in his hand and frowns at it. He might wait until tomorrow. _It's not like Rick can complain anyway._

He can clone himself though. He could have done that already if he so just wanted. The fact he's not back yet means just that he's probably mocking Morty. Dead or alive, thus, doesn't really make that much of a difference. Neither Morty accomplishing the task would make a difference, he doesn't make a difference in the first place. Rick keeps saying that everything is replaceable, everything is purposeless and nothing is special. 

But then, what is the point of Rick and Morty versus everything and everyone? Do they really need to keep adventuring even though, at the end of the day, every single day is nothing but a self-contained story? Whilst Rick might be a fucking old turd with every response at hand, Morty is at that point of his life where questions are everything he has and the only thing that keeps him from hanging. He's used to being ignored and to have his questions rejected, that's why he learned to find responses on his own.

The role of Rick, according to _Rick_ , is merely sitting on a throne of middle fingers that he _lazily_ aims at every other existing being in the universe, because he's Rick fucking Sanchez and you're probably just one of his gadgets without knowing it. That's a thought that itched at the back of Morty's head for quite a while, but that he learned to discard soon. 

The only life lesson Morty learned from himself staying near Rick is that, in the end, they're both _disposable_ and not just unilaterally. The only difference is that Morty can exist without Rick… but Rick can't exist without Morty. And it's not because Rick needs him in any different way than a normal grandfather needs a grandson. It's _because_ of that. Because in the end, he's just a fucking old bastard whose big sandbox has suddenly turned too big for one person alone. 

And that's a thing Morty started to understand just recently. It's the only shield he can raise against his grandpa. And it's the only thing that keeps Morty from leaving Rick dead forever. Feeling needed… in some way, even if in the worst possible way, makes Morty happy. 

Sounds like his parents' marriage: unilateral feelings, toxic codependency, parasitism. Someday he will find a new source of happiness. Until that moment, he will take advantage of Rick like Rick takes advantage of him. 

He's stupid, not blind. But eh, probably it's just a power that comes with the invisibility cloak he seems born with. When you live sixteen years of your life being constantly reminded of your lack of character, lack of a brain, lack of communication, lack of self-esteem… you just start to pick on what others have that might complete you. 

His eyebrows crinkle low, knotting on his forehead. Better get this over with. So Rick can once again fart on his life choices and Morty can just go back to his room jerking off to the virtual tiddies of a girl he will never have. 

Obediently, he pulls a lever that activates a retractable spiral staircase. The access to the underground lab changes from time to time, he's not even sure if he's going in the right way. He starts his descent, but in the middle of it, his steps slow down. No, for reals, where is he going? His body is walking but he has no cognition of the right course? It's like he's moving on pure instinct-- or…

" _Goddammit_." He's so tempted to just toss that stupid gun on the floor and jump on it! He's being controlled like a marionette, isn't he? What did Rick inject in his body this time? A serum that creates muscle memory so that he can follow orders without remembering them? Nanotechnology that makes him believe his actions and choices are his own but it's all preprogrammed bullshit? Is he even real?!

It's hard to live when you're constantly worrying if you woke up as yourself or a bunch of pixels in the new game of a bored mad scientist. And nobody can blame the tears of frustration that sting the corner of his eyes. But he wipes them off immediately. Because ' _don't think about it'_ it's a sentence so deeply ingrained in his mind that if he didn't cling to it like a lifeline he'd lose what remains of his sanity.

So he lets it happen, lets his body take him to a room he's never seen but strangely recognizes. The automatic door opens immediately. No passwords, no codes. It's classic Rick. He leaves everything in the open to constantly remind you that the closest thing you'll ever get out of him is his balls to suck. There's no way to fight him, no way to win, no way to even try. He's the god modded account you'll never ban because you'll never find the crack code. 

Also a modded account in the hands of a six years old boy. Because Rick can be the most intelligent man in the universe, but also the brattiest one. Ugh. At the center of the room, there's a black recliner that reminds Morty of a _dentist's barber._ All around sit fluorescent vials all arranged in a semicircle. He knows that none of them are what he's looking for. Even if part of him _wonders_ what's their purpose. 

His legs take him to a sort of backdoor. It opens aromatically like the other one, letting him in without problems. In the room, there's a single vial. It burbles of a sinister black. Something inside of Morty - probably the half-dying side of better judgment - suggests him to leave it there… that taking it will bring trouble. But is there ever... anything concerning Rick that doesn't push Morty into the arms of death or into situations that endanger the whole status quo? Nope. So, his hand automatically takes it. Because his body is like everyone else and doesn't listen to what Morty's pitiful conscience has to say. 

He goes back to the previous room, and that's where his step slows down again. For some reason, passing by the recliner, triggered a vague memory. One where he is sitting on it with a sort of helmet on his head.

And he knows that the vial goes into the helmet. Morty looks down at the black one that resides in his sweaty palm and then flickers his gaze toward the chair. The helmet is right there.

A sense of dread washes over him like a tide, but the curiosity beating in his chest envelopes his fears into a tight, cushioned embrace, making them dull.

That's Rick's shit. And Morty knows that it's been prepared purposely for him to be enticed into trying it out. He's easily swayed by novelty, no… he's just easily swayed by Rick and by the dark magic he calls science.

So he sits there, making himself comfortable, and grabs the helmet, stabbing the vial on top of it. 

"Why am I so stupid?" A little, miserable smile crooks his mouth while he wears the helmet. 

A few seconds later, his face is rifled with fat blobs of tears.

\---

_"W-will you ever like me… as...as much-"_

_"W-will you ever like me… as...as much-"_

_"W-will you ever like me… as...as much-"_

_"W-will you ever like me… as...as much-"_

The same fragment of video rolls on the widescreen in a never-ending loop. And shrouded in the dim light of the garage, Rick's mouth is upturned into a sterile line.

He cards a hand in his hair, letting out a tired sigh. "That's your biggest goddamn problem, Morty..." he takes a long swig from his flask, "you're t-eueeghem- too emotional."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and forgive if the chapters are still littered with mistakes, I'm not a native speaker and I'm currently beta-reader-less.


	3. The paradox in the shadows - I

A sense of warm vacancy cloaks his mind, pushing around and away the ever rife newsfeed tickling at the forefront of his brain. Hips canted against one of the walls surrounding the recliner, a bottle of vodka in one hand. 

He waited for a while, watching his grandson with surgical coldness, as whatever is haunting him slowly tears his subconscious apart. Hiccups and screams, tiny hands savagely scratching at the helmet on his head… and bleeding because of that. Just when he deems it enough, Rick detaches from the wall and walks over to the recliner; removing the black vial from the helmet with fluid ease.

Morty's spooked, big bloodshot eyes refocus. His expression matching the shaken barely-there blinking one does after waking from a nightmare. His head whips in his direction but the automatic reflex dies as soon as it dawns. Morty's trembling body bends forward and his head falls on his shaking hands, burying a crestfallen sob in his palms. "Rick." He says, in an almost inaudible whine. "Rick…p-please…kill me."

Rick draws a silent, long sip from the bottle in his hand. The other hand reaches into his lab coat, extracting a laser gun, which he points at Morty. His whole body sways pleasurably, all of it, minus the outstretched arm. "C-convince me."

Morty looks up now, wide-eyed and _tired._ "Convince you…? I… I wasn't even supposed to be born. I wasn't… I shouldn't even be here Rick. How about that… is…" he hiccups "is that convincing en-"

"Boring." Rick sheathes the gun back in his coat. "N-nobody is _supposed_ to be b-buohrrrorn, Morty. You're nothing but a shitty mixed cocktail of utopic social constructs that convince idiotic parents like yours t-that farming babies is the miraculous glue that keeps wrecked marriages from falling apart. L-like reducing animal fat in your diet is supposed to cure cancer--o-o-or pulling your dick out just before you cum, Morty. That won't keep you from knocking up chicks Morty. It won't. Y-you get me?"

Morty is staring at him dumbfounded, glassy-eyed, and angry. "N-no. I don't and… and…"

"And what, Morty? You had one task. And that task was retrieving my DNA and this vial…" he rolls the black tube in his long fingers "and stab them in a fucking hole. Can you _penetrate_ a machine, Morty? D-does your finicky virgin mind need instructions to deal with whatever needs to end up in a hole, Morty?"

"That's not the point, Rick! T-the point is that you-you-you purposely made me watch a-all of that. Y-you knew that I was going to… look and-"

"That was _your choice,_ Morty. You could have collected the vial _without_ watching but you chose to watch instead."

"Y-you faked your death t-to make me do it." 

"Oh no. That wasn't _fake_ , Morty. Some fucked up magnetic disruption messed with my bionic implants up there and I can't fucking wait to go back and collect that bitch of a doohickey."

Morty is still sniffling - the whiney wuss - and staring at him like a betrayed dog abandoned on the roadside. "Is it… true...wh-what I saw...is that-- just a…lie? Another lie right? It's just you messing with me-"

He rolls his eyes. "Could be." Then drinks again, "could be not. Like this fucking Vodka claims to be 95% abv," he brings the bottle closer to squeeze his eyes at the label "but it's 99% cow piss and what...1% alcohol? Instead. B-but I spiked it so now 100% couldakillyourliver, baby."

"I...if it's true you know what it means? I...I could… I could go ba-"

"You **_can't_** , Morty." Suddenly, his timbre is flat again, the fuzziness that clobbers his mind is still too low to completely numb him, but high enough for him to keep being in _control._ And control is what he needs now, more than ever. "You saw that. That is the one occurrence in the whole multiverse that repeats itself in the same way, always. No matter how many times you _spike_ it." 

"H-how do you expect me to… to know and do nothing? How can you… be so calm knowing… how...h-how… why? Why?" 

"Too many questions, Morty. The response is-"

"How can I fucking _not_ think about it?! I-if you wanted me to not think about it you should have never shown it to me! N-now… why? Please." He's back on his feet now and out of the recliner, the last word taps on his lips like a shaky, pathetic prayer. 

"Because you're a demanding little shit, Morty." With a slight twist his hand is back in the folds of his lab coat. Rick pulls out a mini remote from it. With a slight push, it starts emitting a feeble green laser-like light, which in turn generates a holographic screen. 

Morty seems to recognize the scene the moment the film rolls. He lets out a pained-shameful-angry shriek. "H...ho...you spied on me!"

"Incorrect." Rick shrugs "your body belongs to me. And I'm sure I don't have to underline that I didn't mean it in a pedo-incestuous dark fanservice way. What I mean is," he points at his face "' _genius'_ is not a lame nickname I invented overnight to bait pussy on Facebook l-like… Smutma-"

"Enough! I...I got it. I...fucking got it, Rick! W...what does that" he points at the vial, "has to do with…"

Rick's lids drop half-mast, the barest ghost of disillusionment itches deep down, in a dark corner of his chest. " _This_ is the exact reason why _that_ " the hand that holds the bottle swings towards the screen "can't and will never happen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first three "chapters" were just a little buildup to finally get on the real one, which will be the fourth (and much longer, hopefully,) thanks to those who are reading this and commented! I really appreciate it


	4. The paradox in the shadows - II

When Rick says the words, Morty had anticipated each one of them. Even before knowing what was in the vial. Yet, it is a contradiction, isn't it? But Rick is _the_ contradiction, he's born to disrupt the quiet stream of reality and change it to countercurrent. 

All the same, though, hearing them aloud is more painful than he thought it would be. He should be used to it. He _is_ used to repeated mockery and bashing, to being told how weak or a pussy he is. It should be a relief. Like… the last, tiny, ridiculous figment of hope has been shattered. Completely. So… so now he can finally let it sink and…

 _Goddammit_. _Goddammit_! He tries, _really_ , to furiously wipe away those stupid, deplorable tears with the back of both of his hands. But they keep gushing out without control. He truly is just a sissy. He wants to say _fine_ , _I'm good_. He can't say shit because his throat feels constricted and gross with all the snot he's been gulping down non-stop. Maybe it's just the terror of knowing he's just a living joke… that Rick has put at stake more than he lets on and doesn't seem or want to care anymore. 

Maybe it's that. It's… knowing that he let him peek into something so… so enormous that he feels lost and confused. That if he felt insignificant before, standing next to Rick, now Morty feels inexistent. As it should be. 

He wants to hate his grandfather. And at least, before today he had that option. But how can he… now?

Rick is staring silently at him now, a blank, bored expression tattooed on his half-scowl like someone that has watched the same movie over and over again and has grown sick of it. 

He waves the now empty bottle of vodka in his hand, shrugs, and tosses it somewhere behind him. The sudden crash makes Morty flinch. 

"L-look up, you whimpering mess."

The way Rick says that the hint of finality in his words, wrenches Morty's gut as it happened before in front of the vial. It's instinct. It tells him to _not_ look up. He covers his eyes instead and crouches down on the floor. Shoulders squared but shaky like leaves. "No," Morty whines, sniffling out a broken sob. 

The silence is severed by a long, exhausted huff. "Look, we've been dragging this for a hellllla lot more time than it was meant to be. So be a good boy and-"

"No. I said no Rick. Are you deaf? I-If I... yo-you're gonna erase my memories, aren't you? A...all those glowing tubes in the room… what's that shit? I-If can't possibly be some impromptu biography you're collecting for posterity now, can it?" That was to be expected. First Rick fucks up with his brain then patches everything up with a gadget. _Every_ single time. "I… I'm not an etch-a-sketch. Y-you can't just put shit in my mind then wipe it off b-b-because my body remembers. You saw that. S-so…"

"You're such a _big_ , fat turd stuck up my ass, Morty. One that doesn't fucking get out unless you push like a goddamn pregnant bitch that has been denied epidural." Albeit Morty can't see Rick right now, he's pretty sure he's just thrown his arm in the air, flailing them like crazy. "F-fine!" Rick spits, and again, Morty can imagine him crossing his arms and laying back against something. He's not putting on a real fight. If he just wanted, he could force him. Which Morty knows, means Rick is up to something… he's just stalling it. "In the _hypothetical_ case I don't erase your memory, what are you going to do with that?"

Morty swallows, the scattered images contained in the black vial still swimming in the back of his closed lids. "W-where is the...other...other portal gun… t-the one with the blue glowing… thing…"

"I f-fucking _knew_ it. T-the only shit more predictable than you, are _fanfictions_ about _us_ , Morty. Or Jerry, or me m-uur-entioning him just because everyone b-believes that making me run on meta jokes makes me more me than every other me. So you want the g-gun. A _t-time travel gun_. Ohhh! Fucking-oh-la-la. I always say I don't do time travel stuff so why would I even have that!? The L-little kid wants to time leap in the past to stop his grandfather from leaping in the past and possibly _save him_ because innocence and se-sel-whateverness are the cure a carcinogenic piece o-of rotten shit needs to reach the _happy ending_. But I am no _G-Grinch,_ Morty. I am no Darth-urpp-fucking Vader or Ray Batty or Jaws. I d-don't need an emotional finale where I realize th-thee trash I am because _I, obviously, love the trash I am_ and don't want _redemption. D-don't-on't need redemption, Morty you follow me?_ And everything I do has n-no deeper meaning, no double layers your little shriveled aneurysm of a brain needs to c-concern itself about. _Noooone_ of that. So, _really,_ do me a favor and s-s-stop searching for hidden meanings to find that little _insignificant_ , fleeting gratification you call _love_."

Morty's hands have fallen off of his face long ago, to find a grip behind his back, on the solid floor. Rick is currently crouched very close to him, _actually very much towering on top of him_. Bending low, curved like a spectral drunk tree. What's left of Morty's breath hangs short against his grandpa's mouth. That's really, really, really close. So close that he can feel the presence of touch without touching it. And the very strong scent of whatever he's been guzzling down.

"U-uh… Rick you...are- you know…" he raises a tentative finger in the air, drawing an awkward circle to indicate Rick's face, all the while scurrying his gaze everywhere but not _there_. "Uhm..."

Rick stares at him nonplussed, and notwithstanding tears are clearly - and totally unfitting - streaking his ashen face, all he does is raising and aiming the flask in his hand at Morty, in an accusatory way, sloshing the contents around. "I'm f-fucking _trashed_ , Morty, b-but I can- I totally can still think of at least s-s-even hundred fourteen reasons to…" he's smooth and unbothered "effectively deny w-wurhhhhatever you're going to say and make you wail in se-eerp-deprecation for pointing it out. So don't even truahy, b-buddy."

Alright, he's pretty much used to this and can easily tell that Rick is not even half as drunk as he claims to be. Some part of him would like to give him a classic eye-roll. But at this moment, half of his scarred mind is tugging him in the thought of wanting to find a way to make Rick drink even more so that he'll stay knocked out for a while while he searches for the gun. The other half is running in a maze, and the marathoners are the few, brave brain cells that are still trying to figure out his grandpa and the… strange comfortable _uncomfortability_ Morty is feeling right now. And the reflex that's jumping in his bones and he's trying to keep in control. The urge to just lean in and hug Rick and tell him something nice. 

All he can do, though, is just lay there and stare back at his staring kin. He must think about something, say something before the ticking gears of Rick's brain click on the word _boring_ again and he lasers his memories away for good. "O-okay Rick you made your point. I… won't whine. I won't even mention this again. You know? W-we can just go on and-"

"And you'll smear your emotional crap on me until the end of your sad life." He finally pulls back and stands up again, wobbly like jello.

"C'mere-- hop on here M-o-rty, b-buddy," His timbre switches to something less neutral, kinder, the kind of voice he uses with his mom. The voice Morty has christened as the Devil's Whisper. 

Morty furrows a brow. Decidedly unconvinced.

"F-f-for Christ's sake, kiddo, I ain't gonna... gonna do shit. Just sit." 

The recliner is the last place he wants to go back to at the moment. But Rick pins him under his pair of piercing, glacial grey-blue eyes and it's like the Pied Piper of Hamelin. Piques his curiosity in a way nobody else and nothing else does. Makes always him feel like the choice is _actually_ his choice, and not that he's being dragged into his unforgivable trap.

"I'm… I'm gonna show you a-another memory. Y-yours, Morty. Wanna s- wanna see it?"

Why would he… not?

"I don't want to but does it matter?" Morty shrugs, hopping on the recliner and putting on the helmet again. Whatever it is won't be worse than what he's seen already, maybe...

"You want to. Trust me on this one." 

Rick's face has been the same all night since they came back. He hasn't smiled, smirked, sneered once. Not even when he threw jabs at him. If Morty had to find a word to define it… it'd be… boringly-haunted. But not quite. 

He hasn't truly time to mull on it longer, because his mind gives out under the weight of the forced intrusion of the new memory.

It's a short collage of more than one memory, actually. In each memory, there's a birthday cake, a Christmas cake, a Thanksgiving cake. And in each of them, there's a different version of his grandpa. Who grows older as the years go by. Until the most recent one… 

He repeats the same thing over and over and over. _"Just one of us needs to remember this."_

Each time.

Every time.

Why? This is a good memory. And that one too. And the other too. Why? Why? Why?

What does it mean?

Why is he showing him this? It hurts.

It hurts. Actually, his chest really hurts. Physically. His arms hurt too. 

When the blackout dissolves, his lungs hurt too… because Rick is leaning in on him, holding him in his arms so tight that Morty's ribcage might break if Rick so much wished.

"R-Rick?" His voice is low, strained with crushing uncertainty.

"This is an overused cliché Morty. Very Disney-movie-like-ga--sappy crap." 

Morty smiles a bit, a tiny, sad crack on his lips. "Y-yeah…" can't really help the sniffle, the sob, the tiny bud of hope that's reflourishing again. "T-too bad I'm not the one of us who's gonna remember… right Rick?"

"Damn right." Rick pats his back once, then pulls back a bit. "I'm the smartest guy in the universe, M-Morty." 

The white, bright flash of the memory eraser gadget is the last thing Morty glimpses.

"... And can't really have my only weakness discover he's my _only_ _weakness_."

And Rick whisper is the last thing Morty learns before passing out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> P.s. Merry Christmas!!!
> 
> For any question or just to chat a bit my Twitter handle is @rickplika ❤️


	5. Almost... Ricked by Morty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know this shit can be super confusing with the escalation it suddenly took--- but believe me when I say  
> that everything will fall into piece in the end. 
> 
> Thanks for reading in advance!

His temples throb funnily, thump-a-thump-thump-thump… thump. Groan. Thump-a-thump-thump-thump. It's almost like waking to the sound of a vintage sex tape minus the scratchy background of someone who tried and failed to record over it. 

Judging by the inferno pitching tents in his throat and the raw tide of nausea bubbling somewhere under that, the levels of alcohol in his system might run for the presidency against blood and win it. Rick runs a suspiciously sticky hand in his hair, stopping the motion mid-comb just when the actual redolence of it hits his nostrils.

Maybe it's not really the smell. But the image of his grandson curled in a fetal position between his legs coming into focus, blissfully sighing through his nose, a little hand splayed dandily across Rick's inner thigh and mouth wrapped like a ribbon around one of his balls, suckling on it like a pacifier.

"Jesus- fuck…" 

The situation speaks for itself. The crusted off-white shit littering Morty's body like a Pollock's living canvas is _definitely_ part of Rick's nocturnal... diurnal… what thefucktimeisit estrus. And the first thing he wonders is how many times he came on the kid… literally… on all of the kid. 'Kid' being the keyword that should have prompted a _why_ before the _how_. In that exact order. Every single one of his muscles feels heavy with residual strain. And he's pretty sure he's got bleeding gaps somewhere near his shoulder blade. Now, Rick knows that wondering what the fuck happened when there's a black fucking hole in his mind it's just wasted effort and the rational side of him, which is very much always rational even when it's not, _knows_ ex-ante that everything he doesn't know is 99% his doing. Which doesn't make it a fuck up, but a slight bump on an otherwise perfectly paved path. 

All things considered, Morty doesn't look that much worse for wear now than he does every single time they come back from whatever adventure that involves murderous- whatever _adventure_. His gaze moves on every patch of Morty's body that's red and crisscrossed, which bears the brunt of the fact he's put on a fierce fight. What kind of fight it's just a wild guess Rick doesn't have time nor wants to estimate at the moment. 

Now the main issue is to wake the little punk without having him scream at the top of his lungs, which would be very problematic and could force them to pack their shit and move to a new verse again... And that would be the best-casescenario. 

Strangling the kid senseless would be the best option. But the best option is never the most appealing one. The very sadistic side of Rick, which obviously is _all_ of him, wants to see Morty lose his shit the moment he realizes what's in his mouth and whose balls he's been sucking on like a greedy bitch. 

So, the leg that's not numbed by Morty's dead weight moves stealthily across the sheets of Rick's cot, he wiggles his toes like another hand, closing the gap between the hallux and the long on the bridge of Morty's nose. 

One beat.

Two beats.

And the kid splurts and coughs like a drowning beast. His round, big eyes pop open, crazed and spooked. Rick retracts the limb timely, just to sit back and enjoy the _real show._ Which is less predictable than Rick imagined. He puts on his best no-shit stare _and stares_. Stares at Morty's eyes widening even more, at his jaw slacking like that of a broken doll.

"D-dunno if you want to look convincing, but you're failing big time" he waves a hand, "if you don't spit grandpa's ball from your mouth, Morty." 

And he does, with all the stuttering mess of his ' _what the fuck_ ' and ' _what the hell_ _Rick'_ annexed. Just… he's lying. He's not horrified in the least. Angry, yes. Angry that Rick roused him. Just that. 

And that's not unsettling… it's… 

Rick's eyes scrunch into thin sharp slits for a fraction. But he decides to keep it down for the moment. If his grandson is trying to play with him, the kid should know he has much more coming his way for just trying that. Not yet, though. 

Morty's pale face suddenly brightens with color, and he skedaddles backward on his bare ass until it grazes the edge of the bed, which is barely one foot away. "I… you…w-w-why…what-" 

"Did you enjoy the ride?" Rick air-quotes, unbothered, his eyebrow setting into a flat line above half-mast lids and legs shifting casually one on top of another. 

"Ye- No! Wh-what kind-kind of question is that? A-and why am I here… n-na…"

"Let me rephrase so your little shriveled brain can catch up." Rick's mouth curls up ever so slightly, mocking and dangerous "did you enjoy it when grandpa rammed his cock up and down your virgin a--"

" **You did n-**!" Morty cuts in with such a high pitched scream that Rick has to slap the plant of his foot on his mouth. 

"Tone it down, dipshit. Can't _really_ deal with you and your parents screaming in my ears at the same time with a full hangover. So, lower your voice or I'll find a way to mute you for the rest of your little lying life." 

Morty nods repeatedly, trying to get Rick's foot off his mouth in a way that makes Rick cringe. "Good boy." He says in a whisper, pulling back. "Now stand up and turn."

"W...what?"

"You heard me loud and clear."

The kid swallows audibly but meekly stands and obeys. 

"Now walk." 

"I... it's embarrassing Rick…" 

"You slept with my dick in your mouth and I watched you for at least ten full minutes and can tell you with a thousand percent certainty that's the _least embarrassing_ thing I saw you doing… or can make you do. So move." The fact he already knows that he didn't fuck the kid is just a detail he's going to omit. However, it is quite interesting to notice, as Morty slips into a brisk walk of shame, that his buttcheeks are as beet red as the kid's face. Glaringly so. 

"You appear to be - ladies and gentlemen, what an astounding happenstance - _right._ Do you enjoy spanking, Morty?"

Morty stops abruptly. Chokes on his saliva and squirms, hands flying readily on his ass to cover the evidence. "No! I don't… I don't even know what…"

"Enough kid. Spill it or I'll make you and you know that grandpa's definition of _nice_ rhymes with _I'll fuck you up so bad there aren't existing rhymes for that."_

"O-okay _fine_! I… I know because…b-b-because..." then he turns facing Rick again, eyebrows low and firm at the center of his forehead. "You know? No. No, I won't tell you. D… do what you have to do."

Rick is, as much as he loathes the usage of the term on himself, _surprised._ Genuinely taken aback. Morty talks back quite often now, hell, he often totally highroads him but hardly ever puts up such a hard front. Especially, because he's very aware that Rick could extoll the memory right off his pitiful brain with a simple flicker of his pinky.

"You won't tell me..." Rick parrots, and suddenly, his chest is shaking with laughter. The laughter hurts his sides like a bitch and literally forces him to bend.

"W… what? Why are you… what's so funny?! Do you… are you gone nuts? I… m-mean.....more than usual?"

"You're fucking gold Morty. Yo-you could have a show all for yourself. You could, you know?"

Morty looks at him with slightly guarded apprehension now. "Are you still drunk? R-Rick-"

"You want to do that? W-we can broadcast it tho the whole universe Morty and people will laugh at your antics. We can make lots, lots of money Morty…"

"YoupassedoutinthevialroomandIrewatched whatwasintheblackvialandfoundthetimeportal gun!" He said that so fast that it's hard to process what the fuck the kid just said even for Rick. But when it finally sinks, and Morty breathes again, their gazes met like crossing swords.

"I'm…" Morty is trying exceptionally hard to not shrink back. "I'm not sorry Rick."

"I bet you're not." Rick gives him a half, crooked smirk. Whatever was, that for a second wrenched Rick's heart away from its sturdy hinges, is now gone. He jumps off the bed, retrieving his pants with a fast, fluid motion. "H-hurry up, Morty, and get dressed. We're going on an adventure." 

Morty looks at him dumbfounded. "U-uh? W… what? _Now?_ Aren't you… mad or anything?"

Rick blasts a portal and grabs Morty by the wrist. "Mad? Nah." He retrieves his flask, taking a long, satisfying guzzle from it. "I'm fu-hhhrup-ing _furious, Morty._ But I really need that magnetic crap right now and you're going to help me. After _that…_ we're going to fix this and _then_ I'll fuck you so hard and raw that a lobster's scream will sound like a mewl in comparison."


	6. Undeniable

He feels _gross._ He's _cold._ His body hurts like a bitch and cherry on top of it all, he's really, really fucked. Morty has kept his gaze low and transfixed on the glove compartment of the ship for a good solid thirty minutes since they set off. The slow hum of the vacuum of the universe is the only other active sound besides the chattering of his teeth. 

He stole a few glances at Rick more than once, his façade is currently too calm and too unbothered. And it's when Rick is like this, that Morty feels _real_ fear rise in his marrow. He crossed him. And Rick doesn't like being crossed... not even if the one that crosses him is himself. 

But maybe… maybe Rick already knows and is just feigning ignorance? He knows that Rick was the one that erased his _own_ memory. He knows that he was the one asking Morty to not yield, to keep what happened from him no matter what. Because that's the price to pay for knowing. _Just one of them can._ And Morty willingly chose to be the _one_. The one, the only one allowed to know Rick inside out. The only keeper of the wrecked part of that man, that same man doesn't want to care about. Even at the cost of feeling wrecked and miserable and dead inside. 

But he knows. And for the first time in his life, he feels powerful. More powerful than the most powerful man in the universe. Probably it's a chipper feeling and means nothing to the likes of Rick. But means the world, means infinite realities to the likes of Morty. So he did what Rick instructed him to do. He lied. Lied to Rick exploiting Rick lies. And that worked. No matter what Rick will do to him now. It doesn't really matter anymore. He will keep his promise. He won't yield. 

_"No matter what, Morty."_

_No matter what._

However, he can't ignore the feeling of shame pooling in his groin. In his little, uncomfortable mind Morty is trying really hard to not scream. To not cry. To not just fall on his knees and beg Rick to stop doing this to them. Because it could be so much simpler, it's always so much simpler in Morty's head. But even he, last night couldn't find the strength to be really honest. So he can't expect or pretend it from Rick, who evades honesty like a pest. It's… too hard to give a name to feelings. It's too hard to understand them. It's too hard to understand his feelings for Rick when they shift from a form of hate so strong that he wishes to kill him to pure, unadulterated love that makes Morty delirious with longing. 

But for too long he justified his growing attachment to Rick with _I'm just a kid, I'm just scared, I'm unable to even walk without supervision because I'm useless and can do nothing. I'm scared of myself. Of this rage I can't control. And_ he never took into consideration that such an equation might apply in retrospect, also to his grandfather. _I'm just an old man, I'm just scared, I'm totally unable to walk without supervision because I'm omnipotent and can do everything. I'm scared of others. Of those feelings I can't control._

But it's fine now. It's fine because as long as Morty knows, nobody will ever, ever, ever hurt Rick again. Because Rick is Morty's and Morty is Rick's. And that's all that matters. _It's all right now._ Nobody will leave somebody any more. 

Even if Rick will never know.

The tiniest of smiles quirks Morty's lip upwards, a trembling one. Trembling like his whole, still naked body. 

"Get out, M-Morty." 

Morty squawks and he's sure he jumped out of his very skin for a second. "W...where a-m I getting out… to, Rick?"

"To where I'm dropping you. Go before I kick your ass out." Rick's voice is cold, impersonal. Light years away from Morty. 

He swallows, hard, glancing outside the window. Whatever it is, on the face of it, seems a shady complex, like some sort of intergalactic service area. Something you'd find along a motorway on Earth. A wave of panic seizes Morty's heart. 

"D...dropping me?" He whines, his voice barely scratching the surface of his throat, "I… thought we were going…"

"Get the fuck out. _Now_." 

Why?

Why does it feel like he's the dog that's being left on the roadside?

Drawing a choked lungful of air, Morty grabs the door's handle. His fingers are shaking crazily. "I don't even have clothes o-"

But he doesn't even have time to finish the sentence, that the door automatically swings open and he topples out of the ship like garbage in a puff of black dust. When he raises his spooked gaze again, the door fleets closed and the ship departs… without him aboard. Rick… hasn't spared a single glance. He… wouldn't, right? He wouldn't _abandon_ Morty. Not like this. 

His hand quivers up, reaching out for the black, distant cloak of the universe cloaked with stars.

Rick would never…

Would…

Would never… convince Morty that holding his darkest, most innermost secrets is _relevant_ just to get rid of it and let it rot with Morty in a desolate, pokey spit of a planet who knows where in the galaxy? 

Yes. 

Without regret.

And that's where it _truly_ sinks. Really sinks. That crossing Rick means getting too close. Too close that the man can't bear it. That's why Ricks have coupons for Mortys. And that's what happens when a Morty gets too cocky. It doesn't matter how much Morty is Morty. Is it like that? He doesn't know. He doesn't understand. He wants to go home. He wants to go back to school and be moony over Jessica. Jessica. _Jessica_? He won't see her ever again. Ever. 

_Mom. Summer. Dad…_

They won't even notice he's missing. Because he won't be amiss. He will just be like the other-self buried in his garden. 

The irony is that he can't even cry. Because there's nothing to cry about. 

Right. In the end, Rick just granted his wish. Morty was the one that asked him to be killed right after seeing the memory in the black vial. So it's his fault. All his fault. Just his fault. And he still isn't a teensy bit sorry. 

He's glad. Glad that at least… he served some kind of purpose in infinite galaxies and realities. Even if he dies, Rick will never know what he asked Morty to keep from him. 

"B-but… I don't want this…" can't bear this. His fingers dig in the turbid sandy-like surface of the planetoid and as if all the stress and the horror of the last couple of years suddenly rain on him, hitting hard like a hailstorm. "I don't… I really don't… I… I'm a coward." He can't breathe. It's too much. Too much. "I'm sorry. I'm so-sorry! I don't want any of this!" He shouts, to nobody but himself. "… Take it back, Rick! **Take it back!** Take… take it back. I was wrong. I-I was wrong." Just a kid. He's just a kid. He can't- doesn't want to walk without supervision. Not yet. "Come back, Rick! Come back! Come back!" Alone is too much to bear. Alone he can't do shit. It's not really Rick that needs him. Is Morty that needs Rick. They're not equals. Morty needs Rick. Just Rick. Not his family. Not Jessica. Just Rick. Just Rick. Rick. Rick. Rick.

"Mr. Smith? Morty Smith?" 

All of a sudden, Morty's body tenses up. He crawls on his knees too fast and falls on his back like a pitiful turtle. "W...who- who…" he's scared. A looming, dark shadow overwhelms him and cuts in the dim natural light of the mudball like a bad omen. Morty is used to surprise attacks. But he's not used to dealing with them in his most vulnerable state. So all he can do right now is freeze. 

"I've been tasked to _take care of_ Morty Smith as fast as possible. Are you him?" 

_Take… care…_

_Assassination?_

Oh. So he does die in the end. Not even by Rick's hand. But from the hand of a total stranger. Of course. That makes sense. Should he fight? He doesn't have weapons on him. He should give up. 

The thing has scissors on his face. Scissors on his damn face! Ant? Looks like an ant. A red giant ant. As the creature bends to reach down, Morty's instinct kicks in. "No!" He's been through too much and for too long to just let someone take his life without struggling back. So his leg shots up for the creature's midsection, but he's too short and his wild kick results in a total miss. The ant flinches back for a second but exploits his flop to take a hold of the flailing limb. 

The ant hauls him up mid-air with fair ease. They're strong. "No, as in you're not Morty Smith?" They query as their mandibles clack against one another at each spilled word. 

"W-why would I f-fucking tell you?! You… ugly… son of a… o-of a… ugly… ant!" Morty swings a new blow, but this one too ends up just like a sad fart in the wind. 

"Because I've been tasked to retrieve…"

"And kill Morty Smith. So even if I were, I wouldn't tell you because just an idiot would-"

"Take care of." The ant corrects.

"Y-yeah… I… I know what it m-"

"As in clean up." 

Morty's face falls. And suddenly, he's very much aware of his nakedness and overall dirty body covered in cum-splotches. "U...uh?" He blinks once, twice.

As if cued by his verbalized confusion, a ginger musical motif starts playing from the ant. "Welcome to Zimphah's prepaid washer service. I am an automaton tasked with the retrieval of Morty Smith - customer code 386543XXY6 - are you Morty Smith?"

 _Washe_. As in… oh. Oh. _Oh!_

"O-uh...Y-yeah… I… I am Morty Smith." He responds sheepishly. 

"Customer acquired. Proceeding to the facility." He hadn't noticed before, that the ant was an automaton. Their voice… its voice doesn't sound one bit metallic and the skin feels real as Hell. He wouldn't mind having one of those in…

"Hey! No. No proceeding to the facility! A-abort! I…can walk! Hey, can you hear me? H-hey!"

But it doesn't matter how much he struggles and flails. The ant just won't let go of his leg.

\---

Turns out that the shady building contains a furnished, actual scrubber-dryer… kinda… thing that scrubs very hard. It's very similar, eerily similar to a car wash facility. The only difference is that instead of cars, living beings go in dirty and come out clean.

Sponge-like reels were vibrating on his ass! But Morty can't complain anymore. Once under the dryer, he felt a lot better and warmed up to the gentle blow of hot artificial air whispering in his fluffed up air. The bot, which is the only other being present there, even brought a sort of sci-fi first aid kit and told him to smear some gooey green stuff on his wounds. And lastly, pointed at a fresh set of clothes laid out on a chair for him. The very same he wears every day.

For some reason, he feels like crying now. That… motherfucker… 

Morty should be used to this. Should be aware that Rick _lives_ to see him distressed and pitiful and wailing like a poor idiot. 

But he won't. Will probably never understand him _that much_. And that's fine. Perfectly fine. This… was actually nice. Not nice like a real shower or bath could have felt, but nice enough _of Rick._ And that's the limit of _niceness_ he can get from him. Crumbs and smidgens. But so much better than _nothing._

So, when he's all patched up and clean and goes out, Morty beams up. The ship is there and Rick is in it, apparently very much drunk and very much in a hurry. When Rick spots him, his unibrow digs dip at the center of his forehead. "W-What are you doing standing there dawdling about, M-Morty? Get in! W-We ain't got all the day." 

Morty walks, no, _runs_ over. Trying to hide and gulp down all the happiness, the wild heart beating, and sappy stuff under a layer of - he's sure of that - ill-concealed annoyance. He gets in the ship and buckles his seatbelt, squaring his shoulders. "A… a heads-up would have been-"

"Threading on a veeeery thin layer of ice, Morty. Watch it."

" _Fine_. I deserved it, R-Rick. Fully deserved it, Rick. I s-so deserved it, it makes me underserving o-of d-deserving it. Happy? I-is that what you want to hear?" 

Rick shrugs. "C-Close enough." He artfully and casually switches on the radio.

> _"I don't… I really don't… I… I'm a coward."_
> 
> _"… Take it back, Rick!_ **_Take it back!_ ** _Take… take it back. I was wrong. I-I was wrong."_

Useless to say, that _shame_ doesn't even compare with what Morty is feeling right now. His eyes widen, his face feels _ebullient_. "Y-y-y…"

"Quite the fine-tune, ain't it? Just you wait to hear ' _the come back Rick'_ choir, M-M-Morty." 

Morty hates Rick's smug smirk.

Morty loathes this man's pettiness, his megalomaniac comebacks, and the way he makes him feel. So tiny… so useless...ly… besotted with him.

And there's no going back now. Not anymore.

"S-shut up, Rick."


	7. For one night - part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really had to cut this stuff in half for my mental sanity - and yours - now, this chapter starts unraveling A LOT of shit and we finally get down to spicy stuff. 
> 
> Most of the second part of this installment is a flashback, but to make it more readable and evade to kill your eyes with italics, I just marked the start of the spoken flashback with ✓✓✓
> 
> Again, it's divided in two parts. Both of them will be equally long. If you have questions and concerns, feel free to drop them in the comment section. I'm always eager to explain/respond and whatever.

"Take this. No questions and follow." 

With a loud _humph_ the rifle-like thing that Rick just tossed at him knocks the air out of Morty's lungs. He frowns, rubbing at his offended ribs, while his eyes take in the surrounding area with morbid fascination. If he hadn't seen worse, much, much worse… if he hadn't meandered around with Rick as much as he has in the last two years, he'd be jumping out of his very skin. Intimidated by the local fauna that surrounds them in a deadly embrace. They look like… _bodies…_ the trees. _Human shaped_ trees. They stand still and rigid, mummy-like, on their roots. Eyes closed as if asleep. 

"Shake it up, M-Morty. Got no time for sightseeing." Rick urges, his voice clipped. 

"Yeah-" he murmurs, speeding up just enough to not be left behind. Half of Morty's attention is still focused on the trees. He's got a bad, bad, feeling about this. "U-Uhm so… w-what d-do we need to-"

" _Ultra Rare_ shit Morty. Y-you'll see. Y-you, remember the thing that killed me yesterday?" 

Actually, no. Morty has no clue what Rick is talking about. As usual. But he knows for sure it will be painful, very much so. _For him_ , especially. He'd like to point that out. But it never mattered. Will it now? Stuff that can be healed, readjusted, _revived_ and that exists in infinite dimensions has no reason to matter. His body, those trees, Rick's body… it's _replaceable_. So, even if Morty will make his discomfort known for the millionth time, Rick won't listen. He just shrugs, attempting a little sketch of a smirk, to joke a bit. To defuse the tension running in his veins. "N-no, but _Ultra Rare_ sounds like the umpteenth _Ultra Pain_ that's gonna end up straight _up_ my butt…" 

Rick flashes the weirdest, _annoyed_ look at him and goes on, switching to a brisker pace and putting actual _distance_ between them. Morty's smile dies and his eyebrows pinch down. _Okay maybe it wasn't that funny but you could throw a bone here, unsympathetic piece of shit._ He's weird. He's been _weirder_ than usual since they left the house. And if Morty knows Rick as much as he _knows he does_ , his grandfather is…

"Yo-you're running away!" He shouts out, halting his steps and lodging the rifle on his shoulder. 

He can see the effect his words have on Rick's shoulders. They jump slightly over their normal line for a fraction, before slouching forward. "Yes, I was _very much_ running M-Morty…" 

Morty's mouth curls up slightly, plentily satisfied with his sharp deduction. 

But then Rick turns around so fast that understanding what's going on isn't an option anymore, he slips a hand into his lab coat and pulls out a _fucking laser gun_ that shoots even before Morty shriek manages to leave his mouth. An undefined quantity of sap that smells like vomit christens Morty's just cleaned up body like a tent, splattering all over his head and shoulders. "Oh...jeez…" When he turns over his shoulder, he meets vis a vis with large, spooked eyeballs that are rolling back into death. "Oh… geez!" And he feels nausea coil fast in the pit of his stomach. The tree falls to the ground with a loud thump. 

"Moooore coming, baby," Rick warns, sounding more elated than he should be. "Brace yourself, moron." As the quips of laser start to bounce around, Morty feels all the monumental stoicism that he gathered in the last days crumble pitifully under his shoes.

"Oh geez, O-oh geez. Wh-what the hell are those, Rick?!" He ducks in time just to evade a wild branch slapping into his skull, and rolls the rifle to point at the creature. One shot in the head… or whatever that is, and the tree is down. Just to be replaced by another of his angry twins. 

" _Cronqaks_ , and you made them very, very angry Morty. You see, human screams are the equivalent of a vuvuzela blown right in your ear for them. And you-" shot, twirl, jump, shot, shot, "you ha-had to just point out the _obvious_ with your scritchy-scratchy yelling." 

"You didn't warn me! O-oh.. ohhh… this is so gross! Stay away from me you… you…oh man, oh geez, oh man!" bang, bang, squelch, _tree scream_ "goddammit!"

Rick is behind him now, his lab coat brushes against Morty's ear. Morty crouches and aims at the eye of a tree, the quantum bullet pierces it and the tree tumbles backward. "I t-told you to not _fucking_ ask q-questions and follow. - _Ohhh, will you look at that. Nice shot there, buddy._ \- V-very simple instructions, Morty!" 

"W-well maybe _s-sometimes_ I need a bit more clarity, Rick?! - _T-thank you_ \- it doesn't always go _without saying,_ y-you know?" 

Rick's chest curves into Morty's back in a way that vaguely reminds him of last night. And even if it's just to use Morty's shoulder as makeshift support for a clean kill, his heart, and stomach, which were already doing adrenaline backflips, now literally do double jackknife twists. 

And suddenly a branch is latching around Morty's midsection and dragging him away. "W-woooah…" 

Rick grabs his arm and pulls back with the grace of a man that's born in the field, whilst he wipes the creature with one, cold shot. "Focus, M-Morty." 

"I'm trying!" He stammers, shouldering the rifle again. But his hands are clammy and his heartbeat is spiking up so much that could burst any second now. There are too many sensations, emotions inside and all around him fighting for dominance. And he doesn't know which of them prioritize anymore. So he just gives up and lets them overwhelm him. With a raw, savage scream he runs forward, shooting at everything without control. It's the only thing that doesn't make him think. It's the only thing that makes him feel good. 

Guts and innards explode all around like popped jello, and at some point, it becomes hard to tell his screams from the trees' shrieks apart.

Morty lets it go, screams, and cries with all the strength he has. Until everything becomes blurry and hot with frustrated tears. 

"Enough Morty." Rick's voice is distant and fuzzed up. Morty can feel the sturdy vise of his hand on his arm, but he can't. He can't stop now. He doesn't want to. It's the only way…

"To redemption! I have to… I have to…" he charges the rifle again and shots, shots in the air, at nothing. "I have to make up for it. I have to make it up to her… for her… for her… for her..."

A moment later, the warmth of Rick's chest is again against Morty's back, but this time both of his hands are blocking Morty's arms down, while he forces Morty to turn around. "T-There's nothing to kill anymore, dummy. Y-you went fucking nuts." 

Rick's chest is slimy and stinks like the trees. And Morty struggles hard, kicks and flails to free himself. "No! Let me… let me! Let me go! I have to… I have… grandma. I killed. I killed her. I killed her. I have to make up for it. Kill me, please. Let me kill. Kill me. Let me kill…"

"Shush-sh-shh." Rick adjusts Morty against his chest, Morty's mouth opens and closes with strings of nonsense against it. He can feel the warmth. But it's distant and cold and can't grasp it. 

"Please, please, please. Let me. L-let me… l… let… I killed… I… I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I'm so weak. I'm sorry I'm so weak Rick. I can't be like you… I can't… I can't bear…" 

A soothing hand ruffles his hair, it's rough, more a friendly pat than a caress. "I know." Rick's voice is calm and cold. So cold. But it's not. To everyone else might sound like that but Morty knows it's sad. Really sad. And that shatters Morty's heart. It shatters all of him. To the point that sobs take over in his lungs and the air stops flowing properly. It hurts. It stings. So much.

"Tell me what I told you to do." Rick nudges, a little more gently. 

"N-no. I-I can't. I don't w-want to." Morty sniffles, burying his face in Rick's chest. "I can… I can learn to bear it. I don't want you to know. I-Iff you know, I ca-can't know."

Rick's chest rises and falls with a deep sigh. "Alright, Morty. Let me tell you this: whatever I said. Whatever we did. _It doesn't matter._ The thing that was in that vial, it's exactly what I mean. You saw pretty much everything, didn't you? Even though I gave you the option to _forget_ you had to go back and rewatch it again, little fucking masochist."

Yes. Yes and he would rewatch it again and again. It's the only thing that shows to Morty that Ricks cares. Really cares. Too much, maybe. In the vial, he was just a tiny infant. In the vial, there were other Ricks in that house Morty didn't recognize. In the vial, those Ricks hated Rick because he still had a thing they didn't have. Diane. In that vial, Diane was hugging Morty like a mom. So tight and strong and warm. In that vial, Ricks pointed weapons and _his_ Rick fought with all he had. In that vial, Rick was happy. In that vial, Rick _had everything._ But in that vial, at some point, Rick had had to make a _choice_. 

A choice between Morty and his grandma. Because time had ticked too fast. And his grandmother was a very, very courageous woman. And so, when the weapons pointed at her, she had tossed Morty in the air… knowing with too much certainty that Rick would have grabbed him. 

But Rick had a choice. And Rick could have let Morty die and save his wife. Could have chosen to fight for the right person. For the strongest one of them. Morty was and still is too weak, too clueless, too gullible. But yet, Rick still chose him. Knowing that thought, makes Morty see the blood gushing out from that ugly hole on grandma's forehead. And he sees it in his hands. Rick put that memory in that vial just to show Morty. To show Morty the reason why he _can't love him back._ Because he doesn't want to. Because _loving_ someone is poisonous and puts you in front of choices. Because _loving inevitably_ means being _left alone_. Means altering the memories of your family to make them believe he had been away for ages. Means hurting your daughter just to not let her hurt, even more, knowing that her _son_ was the very reason her mother died. Means taking all the blame means becoming numb to everything, which means _wanting_ to feel numb to everything. 

Means going back in time again and again and again to try to save both just to see one of them inevitably die in the end. And that's the only constant in the whole multiverse Rick couldn't change. So he had to choose. And he chose Morty again.

Morty is an egoistic bitch, and despite understanding, despite crying and feeling horrible, despite wanting to die to redeem himself… still wanted Rick to love him as much as he does. And knowing that Rick _loved and does love_ him as much and much more… made Morty want that even more. 

That night, _last night,_ at some point after wiping off his memory Rick had gone wild on the alcohol. To the point of passing out. And Morty woke up in the room, confused and lost, remembering just that Rick wasn't supposed to be alive. That he had been tasked to activate the cloning process. Probably Rick hadn't meant to be there. Probably, falling asleep there, passing out on the floor… had been a mistake. Because Morty found the vial again, and once again used it on himself. And the panic, the hurt, the knowledge prompted him to search for the time gun. So that he could go back in time and save his grandma. 

And it was there, at arm's length, because Rick truly leaves everything, always… _in the open_. In the last place, one would search because… it's too easy to find, too predictable. The time machine was in the 'time travel stuff' box. And Morty found it just because Morty was naive enough to give that place a try.

But after finding it. He missed the courage. After finding the gun… he didn't even have the guts to try to figure it out. So he stood there, in the garage, thinking if he truly wanted to die for someone he had never known. If he truly was gutsy enough to willing to die for Rick's happiness. Would losing Morty bring Rick happiness? What had been the point in Rick's choice, then? 

He should have hurried up, made up his mind, pick the right option. Because dying was the right one. But then, Rick had to ruin everything again. Had to open s goddamn portal in the garage and stumble in drunk as fuck. Had to freeze there like a scared deer and look at Morty with the most human, broken expression ever. And had to get angry… and… and…

✓✓✓

 _"D-d-drop that shit, M-M-Morty. Dr-duuurrrhhoop that shit or I'm- I sw--g-go-going to make you."_ Rick's wrath, Morty had always noticed, would always barely surface on his features as distant coldness. Even when shit faced, there was always that illusion that prevented Morty, or every other person, to believe he was always in control. Even when Rick swayed almost like a flag on his feet, even when the slur in his words became an incomprehensible mess. This time though, Morty had detected a crack. Mayhaps, it was because of the fresh memories still replaying in his mind that, for the first time Morty was able to see Rick with different eyes. That night, the image of incorruptible, unreachable God derailed to something _very much human and reachable_. And made Morty confident that he could take the man on as an _equal_. 

With that newfangled assurance, Morty had smiled, _smirked_ even, flaunting and waving the gun like a toy. "Make me then, _Rick. You can do everything, after all. Can't you?"_

And Rick, Rick is a man that doesn't ever _back down_ in front of a challenge. Because he's a petty old man that has to prove himself even if he says the contrary. "You asked for it, punk." And so, he tackled Morty to the floor with all of his might and weight, with all of his _strength_. Upturning a table, knocking vials and contraptions out of the working station. They had rolled on the floor, scratching and punching, and wrestling for the gun. Yelling and swearing. At some point, Jerry, Summer, and Morty's mom had even come down to check on them. Tried to stop them. Until Rick had shot a portal right under their feet to get rid of them. 

"W-w-hat the fuck, Rick? W-where- ugh!" punch in the jaw. Punch in the guts. Punch, punch, punch. Kick. 

"I'm fu-fucking out o-o-of it Morty, d-don't fucking know and do-don't fucking c-…sonofabitchingbitch!" Morty had kneed him in the balls and had managed to free himself from under Rick, slipping on the streaks of his own blood in the process. But Rick was hardly someone that Morty could win against, because he was faster, cleverer, stronger even when completely plastered. So it hadn't taken that long for Rick to flatten him down against the floor and straddle Morty, pinning both his arms and strangling his wrists hard, until Morty was screaming and forced to drop the gun in his hand due to the stabbing pain. 

"W-what do you think y-you were doing… yo-you little crap, uh? W-wanted to set up grandpa and what, go back in time? That's what you wanted to do Morty? Without even knowing how it works? I tell you what would have happened, Morty. You want to know, Morty? Wanna know?" Rick's drool was dripping all over Morty's face in big, disgusting mottles. And the more Morty strained his face and craned his neck away, the more the foul smell of alcohol made him gag. 

"I-I don't care! I'm go-go-gonna die anyway!" Right. For him. For that piece of crap that had to ruin everything all over again. That had to yank Morty away from his blissed ignorance and make him stumble on a thing that he'd rather never know. But now he knew. And knowing meant he couldn't just _ignore_ it anymore. 

But Rick had laughed. Laughed at him in such a derisive, ribald way that overrode every possible jab or insult he could have thrown at him. It meant ' _you can't do shit, let alone commit suicide. You don't have the guts.'_ And maybe he was right. He hadn't had the guts to even try. Because he was scared. Scared of death, scared of Rick, scared of himself, and scared to not see his family anymore, to not see Rick anymore. And he was happy too, happy that for fucking once someone had done something _for Morty,_ just for him, only for him. And letting go of such egoistic thought was harder than he thought it would be. 

Feeling Morty's muscles slack against his fingers, seeing his grandson yield to tears once again had probably convinced Rick that the fight was over. So he had released him, literally swatting away his limbs like tedious flies. Had retrieved the gun and was about to stand up. 

And that was when Morty had reached out for a sturdy chunk of glass, gripping at it hard until his palm bled with cuts and stabbed Rick just above his shoulder blade, not deep enough to kill, but deep enough to hurt. And it did. The gun had clattered on the floor as Rick cursed at him, and Morty had flipped on his knees as fast as possible, reaching out for it. And finally retrieving it. Rick, though, had already grabbed him by the back of his collar and tore the gun away from his hand… again. Morty had felt the hair knocked out of his lungs the second Rick slammed him onto the working table, grabbed his shoulder, and rolled him again on his back. 

"You've become gutsy, kid. I give that to you." Rick had smiled down at him darkly, the plick-plicking of blood and chemicals dripped-mixed into a creepy score. "And we can't have that, Morty. _I can't_. Y-you, understand? S-so now you're staying put and l-letting me er-erase your memories. G-go back to being a good boy for grandpa. Y-you know that you can't do anything… you know that… but yo-you're being stubborn b-b-because you think you can do it, right? Y-you think you can accomplish something that even I couldn't. Y-you feel special. Blessed. You feel that grandpa loves you so much that you can do everything for him. But that's not it, Morty. That's not it. You see, I never do anything that doesn't give me a profit back. Y-you were worth it, you were worth the choice because you are m-my invisibility cloak, Morty. A-and the other Ricks knew before me, t-that's why they came you know?" 

"Liar!" Morty spat, and as he did, one of Rick's hands snaked around his neck. "Y-you… went back… y-you went back to save us both. I saw it. I s-a...w… i...t" with Rick's finger pressing on his carotid, Morty's voice started to come out shallow, ragged. Tears and blood blurred his vision. 

"I don't want to hurt you, Morty. You know I don't. But you have to shut up now. Y-you have to u-understand that you're being very, very difficult. You have to s-sh-shh. Sh-shhhh, M-Morty." How could he say that _like that?_ How could he even think to try the shit he used with his mom with Morty? If there was something he hated more than he hated Rick himself, it was that fake soothing voice. The unfelt, off-putting sweetness of it. How could he say that whole, while strangling him?

"Please…" Morty murmured, eyes slowly falling shut. "Le...t...g-go…ca-can't brea..." 

And Rick did. Just slightly, the pressure around his neck lifted enough to let Morty inhale sharply and cough. 

"B-better?" Rick queried, without probably expending a real response. "T-told you, Morty… I don't w-want to hurt you. Y-you asked for it you know? Y-you…"

"I know." Even though the pain, Morty gave him a tired smile. "I-I'm g-glad you… you t-took me… on… seriously f-f-for once, Rick." And at that moment. That was the moment, the only, real moment that Rick _smiled_ back. A real smile. A smile that gave Morty a strange sense of understanding. Camaraderie. Of belonging. And one that completely, hopelessly undid him. And that whispered to him ' _you can do this. Morty Smith. You can die for this man and regret nothing._ ' 

The gun was still in Rick's hand. Rick's defenses were weak enough. Both Morty's hands grabbed the lapels of Rick's lab coat, yanking him down. Drunk Rick was also unstable enough to lose his balance and give out to the sudden rush of boldness from Morty. And it felt strangely right. Feeling for the first time his grandpa's mouth on his, a bit awkward and embarrassing as hell. And gross, really fucking gross because it tasted like rotten eggs. But still _right._ Rick let go of the gun, it clattered and rolled on the working table for a few seconds. Stood there, rigid, for a couple of seconds, eyes wide with fear. Not confusion. Or at least, so they looked like. The algid crown around his black pupils trembled and shone with unspilled tears. 

Morty pulled back after a second, dropping his gaze at the height of Rick's chest. It wasn't his first kiss, he had made out with plenty of girls in the last two years, and ironically, thanks to Rick. But this… 

He felt flushed. Flushed in a way that bordered on scalding. It had been instinctive, so much that thinking back on it, looked so fucking out of place. Why… 

"So-sorry I… I just wanted to… take the g-gun and…" Morty had swallowed and had peeked up at Rick with his heart in his throat. And it jumped out his ribcage when he didn't meet anger, but dark, grey-blue eyes stormy with _greed._ Greed he had seen many times just in the form of barely-there. Not full-fledged. Not this disruptive. Like Morty didn't need words to voice what Rick was saying. And he was saying loud and clear… _Run. Run because now I want you. I want you in a way that's totally wrong and weird and so strong that I can barely hold back anymore._

But he didn't run away. Because he didn't want to. Because even if he wanted, he felt paralyzed, scared, longing, greedy… so his fingers tightened around the white lapels of the coat, and he squeezed his eyes shut, puckering his lips ready for the onslaught.

"A-are you trying to take a shit right here?" Rick's tone had gone back to his usual sing-song one. _No. No. No. No._ His hands came on his, slowly prying them away from where they were tightly anchored. _No._

"Th-that's the one thing I can't give to you, Morty. T-that was the whole point of th-the vial you know? 'Cause, otherwise y-you'll never stop wh-uaaughining about that. B-but looks like you don't get it if I don't spell it out for you, don't cha?"

 _No. No. No._

"Grandpa **can't** love you. Not in the way you want." 

He knew that. Morty had always known. But hearing that… had been soul-shattering. Because not even Morty had known, until that exact moment, the kind of love Rick was talking about. And that pretty much responded to his every other question. Why couldn't he see Rick as a family? Why couldn't he see him as a potential lover or friend? It was because it was much, much more than that. And it could kill, it could wound hard and deep, leave behind unmendable scars. A kind of bond that didn't include the word 'until death us part' simply because it couldn't exist, to begin with. Because _that_ existing meant inevitably killing a part of Rick that he didn't want, would never abandon for a feeling. 

"Ca-can't… or… don't?" He felt himself asking, with a big lump knotting his throat. A lump of tears he wouldn't shed. 

"It goes without saying." Yeah, it went without saying. It was palpable in the trembling of Rick's voice, on the cyclopean effort he was putting into sounding as collected as possible. 

And that was when Morty had come up with the idea. The moment Morty had reached the bottom. "W-would it be possible… if… if you didn't know? I-If…" he looked straight at Rick this time, their closeness a balm and an invisible hand pushing words out of his mouth. "If I was the one knowing… if I never told you… f-f-for one night… c-could- you… love m-e as much as I…" oh, it had been so pitiful, so degrading, so desperate. He felt so ashamed.

But then, Rick had stopped pushing away Morty's hands. And slowly, and in a whisper, and close had said: "Is that what you want?" 

Which always meant: _I can make that happen. I can do everything. Just say the words._

Morty bit the inside of his lip hard. He searched for _one,_ a single reason to not want that and he found a thousand reasons for not _doing it_ , but none for not wanting. So he nodded firmly, tried so hard to not veer his gaze away. "I… w-want... you. W-whatever it takes."

"Wait here then." As Rick opened a portal and disappeared in it, Morty stood there unmoving, he eyed the abandoned gun next to him with apprehension. He could still do that. He had a choice. He could still… figure it out and… no. He couldn't. And that's why Rick had left the contraption there. In the end… he knew Morty more than Morty knew himself. For a fleeting moment he had thought that maybe he could do it _afterward_ , but if he had wanted to truly use the time gun… he wouldn't need to wait. Weak. So weak. To have his body tremble with anticipation and want and fear, to have his body shamefully respond to all of that with the worst timed hard on. Weak. Weak bitch. Weak sicko that wants to fuck his grandfather. Weak bitch that gets aroused by a peck on the lips. Weak sixteen-year boy that should fuck the girl of his dreams, that should go on dates, that should have fucking friends. Sicko that would trade every one of them to have Rick just once, all for himself. 

Sicko. Sicko. Sicko. 

When the telltale sound of another portal broke in his flow of thoughts, a sudden, electrifying shock of impatience ran up and down his spine. Followed by a mini heart attack and the total self-combustion of his skin. 

Ba-thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. 

"I-I feEErtched Beth & Co. from an underground tribe of c-cannibals th-that worships Hannibal Lecter like a G-God. T-That was- you don't want to go there M-Morty. Really don't. A-And just in case I injected a sleeping serum in all of them so they won't come and bust my balls with-" 

It didn't matter what he said, how he said it, at that moment, Morty's gaze was enraptured on Rick's face, on his long gesticulating limbs, on his expressions, all of them… Morty felt drunk. Drunk with every detail of him, thirsty for him, feverish. 

And Rick must have noticed that, because his long tirade waned when his gaze fell on Morty. He moved closer, briskly pulling out a contraption from his lab coat. A gadget Morty recognized immediately: the memory eraser.

"When it's over, p-push _this_ button, Morty. Not the blue one. _This. G-g-green._ Are you following me?" 

Morty snapped out of his trance just in time to nod fiercely. "No blue. Green one." He parroted, the burning sensation on his cheeks, ears, and neck threatening to set him on fire. 

"A-Alright. There's only this condition. Once it's over you remove my memories, it's already set up to start the erasing process from two hours ago. You have to just press the thing and that's it. Morty, no matter how many times I ask you to tell me. You must _not yield_. No matter what. You get it, kid? _No matter what, Morty_." 

"N-no matter what." He echoed back. 

"Attaboy," he ruffled Morty's hair, "It'sssss corny and horny time then, baaaaby." 

Rick cocked a brow, one hand falling on his hip. "W-want a drink to get in the groove buddy? You're as tensed as my fucking dick and _it is_ very much in the mood. Wanna touch?"

O-kay. He knew Rick wouldn't have issues with the whole thing… because… he doesn't have issues with _anything_ so long as he's out of it. But Morty, at that moment, was way _too into it_ and _too sober_ to relax. Especially _not_ with all the _wanna casually test my dick_ commentary. "U...uh… ca...can we…" he scratched a patch of skin under his eye, coyly, not knowing where to begin from. "K-kiss or… something…" His legs swung anxiously under the surface of the working table. 

"You sound like you never tried BDSM with that chick back with the detoxifier shit." 

Morty's eyebrows furrowed, and he snapped up, irked as hell "we didn---" but suddenly Rick's hand was on his chin, pistoling it upwards to force his mouth to meet his halfway. And Morty… Morty just turned into _putty_ in a nanosecond. Completely pliant and _gone._ A slow whine, like a hiccuped sigh, left his mouth as Rick's tongue prodded his lips open, and galvanized, Morty, obliged, slacking his jaw wide and _God_ if it wasn't a time-shattering kiss. Well… for him, at least. Rick worked his mouth in a way that sent pleasurable tingles all over Morty's body, tongue slipping in and out and around his lips with expertise. The tip feeling the front and back rows of Morty's teeth. And after a few seconds, Morty was already panting and huffing between languid laps, he had somehow shifted on his knees on the wooden board kicking various paraphernalia off the surface as he pushed against Rick more, one arm circled his grandfather's neck and his mouth opening wider. The need to inch closer, to feel more burning on his skin like cattle-brand. The other hand, out of habit, moved on the surface of Rick's chest, taunting the area with slow circles. 

Rick pulled back just enough to move out of Morty's mouth and redirected the flat of his tongue toward and along Morty's chin, then on his jaw, and up close to his ear. "Big treasure hunt there, hope you're not hopin' to find a boob 'cause there ain't none." Morty stopped the motion immediately, mortified, and sighed a pleasured "fuck you, Rick" as his neck bent and shifted to follow the vagrant tongue. 

"Nah, believe me. _I will_." The promise whispered more like a threat, made Morty jump like a spring on Rick, legs wrapping around his midsection and mouth eagerly searching for his grandfather, who caught him and wavered backward of a few steps. Bony hands cupped his ass, and long, spasmodic fingers dug in the fabric of his jeans, squeezing and kneading. Morty moaned his approval, feeling his cock ache and writhe against the restraints of the coarse fabric. As he planted sloppy, wet kisses along his grandfather's neck, trying to mimic how good the other had made him feel, the latter switched on holding him with one arm and scavenged in his lab coat to pull out the portal gun. Morty mumbled something incoherent against Rick's Adam's apple, and Rick shot a new green circle just a few feet away. 

"W-wher…are we-"

"In my room. And we'll get down to real business, boopa-boy. Grandpa's pretty fed up with Disney foreplay."


	8. For one night - part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright folk. This chapter is basically just porn, so if you're sensible or stuff like that, don't read. 
> 
> The chapter is still fully written in past tense, because it belongs to Morty's memories. (Our usual, happy ✓✓✓ are there to remind us.)
> 
> Well, this is Morty's version of the facts.
> 
> Next chapter will be Rick's. A lot of Rick. (Because I particularly enjoy his POV. But couldn't still use it because of reasons...)
> 
> Enjoy
> 
> Ah right, this stuff is - as usual - unbetaed. Therefore, well, probably full of horror.

✓✓✓

Morty's mind felt foggy. A thick layer of _no fucks given_ had settled comfortably at the vanguard of his mind, setting his body on autopilot. 

The mattress bounced under his back with a sinister creak, when Rick tossed him on it, slipping out of his lab coat as soon as their limbs parted. 

The promise of better quality foreplay… or no foreplay _at all_ made Morty's skin fester with impatient shudders. The way he looked must have been a sight to behold… because Rick was now _beholding_ it with a gnarled, amused smirk and baring his alcohol-stained teeth. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, tipped his head slightly on the side, and quirked his unibrow into a vicious v. Instead of browbeating Morty with one of his nasty comments, as Morty expected, Rick waddled his finger in circles, beckoning Morty to turn around. 

And Morty fucking did, _no, he scrambled_ -flipped on his knees without the need to be told twice, and at the same time, fiddled with the button and zip of his jeans, pulling everything, boxers included, down at once. The haste made him topple on the garments pooled at his knees, and with a yelp he fell face-first on the cot, springs jumping under his chin and ass sticking up in the air. 

"You're undoubtedly the son of your fucking father… " Rick noted tersely, behind his back. 

Morty flushed scarlet with shame as his face turned on the cool blanket and his burning cheek sank in it. "I… you said that f-foreplay was ove-"

" _Incorrect_. I said _that_ **_your_ ** _sad Peter-Panesque idea of foreplay was over, Morty. Y-y_ ou kiss like a fucking d-uuuooorhg high on meth a-an-aaand that's an insult to the _dog._ " 

"W-w-well, so-sorry if I'm not a s-sex mach--o-oh...oh… o-" Whatever retort Morty's vocal cords had contrived, was now drowning in his throat together with a high pitched, ecstatic moan. The moment his weeping, unguarded balls had met with the hot, moist single swipe of Rick's tongue, Morty's body had tensed up like a bowstring. Lust and humiliation mixed up in a dangerous cocktail in his mind and minced words floated in his head, an ensemble of _Stop. No. Can't. Yes. Please. More._

The mattress creaked under Rick's knee and his hands, flat on their palms, clasped the flesh of Morty's buttcheeks, spreading them apart-- Morty's previously closed eyes flew open wide with alarm. Alarm that once again Rick swooped away with a single checkmate. His mouth wrapped fully around Morty's scrotum, which both made Morty realize the pitifulness of his size and knocked what was left of Morty's logical side away. He buried his face in his crossed arms, a shock of undaunted pleasure traveled up on the bridge of his spine, making it arc toward Rick's probing lips and tongue - the latter, circled his ball sack like a slow, tortuous dance, flickering and sucking. 

"O-oh...f-fuck…o-oh-a..." Morty felt himself wail through his ribcage, a miserable, broken echo that made him sound like a needy, fucking slut. He bit one of his arms, hard, trying to focus on anything… anything that wasn't his sore cock dangling between his legs and already dribbling with precum.

He focused on the bloodstains left from the aching slash still open on his palm, on the biting sensation of every tumescent part of his scraped, battered skin. But it didn't work. Not at all. Not when Rick's presence felt so strong to tilt… no...overthrow the axis of wrongness and make it right. _Oh so right_. Oh so… so… tight. His balls tightened and throbbed in Rick's mouth. Rick was breathing so close to his asshole and the dirty sound of his balls being so thoroughly fondled and twisted by his eager tongue sounded so exponentially exaggerated just to tease him… and… and… _god. God. God._

It was perfect. So _perfect_ to be _scary._ Morty felt his blood rush too fast and too quick. The orgasm building up pathetically toward… "A-u-uh...o…" but something slipped along and clasped around the base of his hard cock. It squeezed it tight and _hurt._ With a gasp, Morty leaped on his wobbly knees, and a strong sense of vertigo almost smoothed him back on his original position. "R...o-ou- Rick?" He attempted, so feebly that for a second he doubted Rick might have heard him. 

Rick released his balls with a satisfying wet pop, and ran the tip of his tongue further up, whirling lazily around his clenching asshole. "It's all good, Morty. J-Just a little precaution to prevent you from coming before the time." Rick purred, in a sort of dark, soft shush, that made Morty's heart skip a beat. He dared to throw a glance between his legs, at the upside-down, filthy image of his reddening, dripping cock trapped inside of a fluorescent, green circlet. "W-wh...what is… why can't I- a-a! A-o- i-it hurts." It was tightening fast, too fast. So fast that Morty had to once again drop down on the mattress, contorting. He tried to close his legs, to roll on his side, to reach for it. "P-please take… take…" but Rick's weight was above him before Morty could even rationalize it. The hard planes of his bony chest brushed against Morty's back, crisping up his shirt. Rick curved on Morty's until they stuck flush and his hands came down on one of Morty's, blocking his wrist and pinioning the hand that was trying to reach out for the cock, in place. 

"I-it hurts. It h-hu-urts…" Morty didn't trust his voice anymore, even with hot, frustrated tears prying at the corners of his eyes, his plea funneled out of his burning throat like worship, a thirsty, unabashed hiccough. "R-Rick… T-t-t….a...ah-t-take it off. Please. It hu…" 

"Shhhh…" Rick's reassuring hush didn't soothe. It was like a hiss against Morty's ear. His other hand snaked around his midriff, long fingers trailed under the fabric of his shirt, and pinched one of his nipples. It hardened immediately under the touch. 

"It will, t-the more you struggle, baby. T-the more pathetic and whiny you are, the more the ring will close around your little slutty dick. If you're not careful… if-if you're not, Morty…" Rick's tongue traced the curve of his jaw, his teeth scraped along the bone, "it could even chop it off. Y-you don't want that, right? Y-you want to feel grandpa's mouth on it… don't you?" 

Morty's eyes widened, astonished. Suddenly his heart was beating wilder than before, and tears finally spilled down, striping his cheeks.

"You want grampa to suck it until you come? Is that wh-what you want Morty? Is… is that it? Tell me…"

Morty nodded. He nodded because there was nothing he could say. His mouth let out just strangled, pained-pleasured whines. 

"S-such a good boy you are. A good- real good boy. And will you do as grampa says? Mh? Wi-will you hold back, Morty? Can you… c-can you do that f-foor m- for grandpa?" 

As much as he yearned to shake his head in denial, to just tell Rick to go and fuck himself, deep down, a little voice reminded Morty that he _was willing to die_ for Rick. If Rick asked him to blow up in exchange for this wicked, twisted, all kinds of expensive affection, then Morty would gladly oblige. "Y...yes…" he cried, so desperate and ravenous that it scared him. "I… ah...a-ah… o- a...c-can… all… everything…you... please, please, l-let-…"

"Yo-you want me to fuck you, M-Morty? Is that your wish? Is that what your little virgin and tight asshole wants?" 

Morty's cock swelled at Rick's words, and with it, the circlet closed tighter around it, pulling out a shout of pain from his lips. Rick promptly caught it in his mouth. Morty's ragged, shaky exhales crashed against Rick's steady ones as Rick spooned him back against his chest and on his lap. Morty's neck was twisted into a painful angle, but all the same his mouth opened shamelessly, tendrils of saliva drooled down his lips and chin, blending with tears. His tongue spiraled fast around Rick's, with so much ardor that his painful wiping turned into moved sobs. He couldn't place that intense feeling of _sadness_ and happiness in the chaos of messy and raw emotions filling his chest to the brim but it was _right. Right. Right. So right!_ "M...mh...mhh… mhh...l-le…" his head slipped backward, to lay onto Rick's shoulder, whilst his grandpa moved towards his neck, biting and sucking _hard_ \- coaxing more voice out of Morty's strained lungs like it was second nature to him. 

"L-let… please… let...mh-mhh…" Morty hated that he couldn't talk, that Rick's fingers pinching and twisting his nipple were enough a distraction to soothe the vise around his shaft that was growing unbearable every passing second. 

"Not yet," Rick whispered, against his neck. 

"N-no… n...mhhh… n-...not… I want to… please let me…"

"You want what, Morty? _Tell_ _grandpa_." Rick's voice was taunting, low, and husky. A thrum of incensed curiosity under layers of self-constraint against Morty's neck. And Morty loved every bit of it. And wanted to hear more. Wanted to show him that he could take it and give it back tenfold. "S-s-s… mhh…" the tip of Rick's tongue roamed against his earlobe, tracing the contours and the inside. The wet smacking sound of it made Morty quake uncontrollably. His teeth chattered. "A-a...su...suck you o-oh-off..."

His barely-there mewl won a deep, throaty exhale from Rick, a toe-curling, half-swallowed-sigh that if Morty's dick wasn't caged in the cock ring would have unloaded right there and now.

"Oh yeah? And how much you want that… M-Morty?" 

_A lot_ , he thought. Even because his neglected cock was bursting against his lower abdomen, and the desire of coming was slowly taking over every other thought. Morty needed a distraction. Or maybe just needed more destruction. Rick's hard-on was pressing against his ass, through the texture of his pants, and Morty knew his grandpa had been deliberately rubbing it there to push Morty into action. 

He jerked inside Rick's one-handed embrace, 

forcing his grandpa to release his nipple in favor of letting him turn. Rick chuckled as he'd do at a hopeless baby animal in distress, but that didn't discourage Morty. He bit his bottom lip, as every new movement sent spikes of pain to his cock and pressed his trembling palms on Rick's chest; pushing him back to fall on his elbows. 

It didn't feel much like an accomplishment, Rick's amused expression told him that this was a _concession_ , a prize he'd won for behaving. Not fair play. But it was fine. Everything was fine _now_ until it lasted. 

Morty's shivering legs struggled as hard as they could to shake off the jeans still trapping his ankles out of the way, and it was so _degrading_ and _awkward_. He could feel every muscle jump with arousal and stinging, numbing throb. And the more he felt it, the more he grew used to it. 

Bitch. Bitch. Slut. Slut. Slut. Slut. 

Long fingers came under his chin, knuckling it upwards. Morty blinked away residual tears as quickly as he could, and he bit back the pain to school his expression into one of resolve. As his gaze squarely confronted Rick's again, the grey-blue greedy storm in his eyes was back. Beautiful and, this time, completely _unbridled_. 

"That's my boy" Rick murmured, and his knuckles turned, replaced by rough fingertips that gripped Morty's chin with a sort of paternal reverence. It felt both wholesome and sickening at the same time. But it was so hypnotizing, so distracting… so _everything_ Morty _wanted_ that all he could do was sigh out a shaken, aroused puff of breath. 

Rick took one of his hands, guiding it on top of the bulge of his pants. Morty hesitated, his fingers darted open and closed before eventually resting on his grandfather's erection; sweat beaded at the center of the palm. He swallowed, his eyes never left Rick's. Not once. Maybe too frightened to glimpse at what their joined hands were doing, at how easily Rick persuaded his hand toward his belt, allowing Morty unbuckle and loosen it. The metal clanking like a sin against the leather and the zip slowly being pulled down… it was too much.

"What is it? Not gonna watch, Morty?" Rick's irises flashed alluringly downward, "nothing you haven't already seen."

Morty opened his mouth to say something... _anything_ , but words died in his throat when the flaps of Rick's pants came undone and he felt heated, hard flesh pulsating under his hand. _God._ He was scared. Scared as Hell. Scared of crossing that boundary, scared of _liking it so much_ that letting it all go would murder him later. But he did it anyway, because if Morty self-control barely even existed without Rick…now was outright inexistent. With his heart and cock _burning_ like _hell_ , he looked. And his wide eyes examined, with spellbound horror, that _thing…_ something that would _never, ever fit_ in his mouth… let alone his ass. He had seen Rick flaccid more than once, sure… but… _never_ hard. As one shaky hand wrapped around Rick's shaft, Rick let go of him. He crossed both his arms behind his head to cushion himself, wiggled out of his pants, and laid back with the same relaxed attitude with which he'd have navigated through the channels of the interdimensional cable.

Morty sat there, between Rick's legs like a spooked deer. Mouth half hanging open and hand petrified where Rick had left it.

After a few seconds of _nothing_ , Rick lifted a brow, then sighed, "y-you know you have to…" he hollowed his cheek and jiggled one hand in the air, pressing his tongue against his cheek inside of his mouth " _shlup-shlup._ My dick ain't going to suck itself, Morty."

Usually, Morty didn't enjoy that kind of humiliation. It hurt him, embarrassed him, made him feel like _an utter idiot._ In the bed. It… _aroused him._ And arousal wasn't pleasurable at that moment, it just inched his cock closer to decapitation. Therefore, he opted to ignore the pang of pain between his legs and centralize on giving Rick what he had promised he would. "…I-I-know!" He quipped, actually more enthralled than miffed. Gradually, he settled in a more comfortable, half-laying position and fastened his fingers around the cock in his hand. "D-do-don't r-rub it...in…" he muttered, against Rick's foreskin. 

_I never blew someone in my goddamn life!_ He didn't add that, even if it became painfully foregone when his tongue merely flicked out to give an experimental swipe. It was weird. Weird. So weird. It wasn't like Morty had never tasted his _own_ zest after getting off. But whilst he barely tasted of anything, like something sweet, sometimes tangy… Rick tasted and smelled _strong._ Strong like the odor of sex hanging in the air after a solo session in the middle of summer. Strong like clean laundry left decaying in a corner of the house, soaked for weeks. 

Like… something… _old._

It wasn't revolting, nor _tasty_. Just weird. But Morty hadn't ever been a particularly _picky_ boy. Not when he was used to bathe in the worst shit daily. With a bit more confidence and after taking a long breath, he decided he was going to _apply_ what Pornhub had taught him in his three years of continued membership. He opened his mouth as much as possible, and wrapped it around the imponent length of Rick, mindful of his teeth. _Like a fish, like a fish, you're a fish._

He felt Rick stir under him, the barest flexing of the muscles of his legs sent jitters of pride up Morty's spine. Dismissing the pain and the swelling of his cock was _impossible_ , but he'd bear it. Even though he couldn't help but sob, even though his body was flushed scarlet with want and need of release... Fuck it. He took in more inches, pushing his head down as far as he could muster. The chocked, pathetic sound of his gagging and splurging rang in his skull loud and shameful. But not as bad as he thought he would. How many unwanted alien things had he ingested willingly and unwillingly in the last two years? Ironic, that all of that deadly training would come in handy for this _purpose_. To show off his skills in bed with his very _mentor._

Morty glanced up, through half-mast lids, at Rick's expression, desperate to catch the smallest hint of pleasure. And he was rewarded when the tip of Rick's cock hit a particular spot in Morty's throat. Rick swooped his tongue over his upper lip, more than aware of being watched, he curled his mouth into a crooked, vicious curve. Morty didn't find his grandpa particularly appealing, whatever he felt for his old man couldn't simply be _measured_. It was pure chem. But now… now Morty saw it, that it was the way he moved, the way he talked, the barest nasty slip of his mouth, the way his wrinkles just dipped in a way that just fit his demonic face. Rick was attractive because he was _bad_. Bad like _forbidden bad_ , like _you can't have me_ , bad. And his whole body language spoke, _no… shouted that._

When Morty reached the hilt, he was _choking_. His nose, full of snot, couldn't quite inhale enough air to allow him proper breathing and therefore, he was forced to pull back and spit saliva and tears like a total amateur. 

And Rick... Rick could put up with his shit just _that much_. Morty had barely managed to hiccup a spoonful worth of air when he felt Rick's hand harpooning his neck without notice, shoving him back down on the cock so fast that Morty felt like his lungs had never been refilled. His throat felt on fire, and no matter how much he screamed his disapproval against Rick's flesh, his head kept moving in disaccord with his will. Up and down, and sometimes it didn't move at all, it was Rick's hip that rocked up straight against the back of his throat. Morty's hands flailed, tears and mucus mixed on his scalding face. 

In all of this, he tried his best to concentrate on Rick's rapid increase of breath, on the slow, satisfied grunts that had started to leave his mouth. And the "y-yeah, like this. L-like this, Morty. That's how… grandpa likes you the most." 

Pitiful? Used? Abused like a toy? Crying hopelessly while a cock twice as the size of his mouth was relentlessly shoved down his throat? That's what Rick liked about Morty? 

He wanted to shout. To scream and beg him to stop. But he knew… he knew that it would be a lie. That wasn't pain. Pain was feeling a spear pierce through his mouth and brains at once, pain was being cut in half, sometimes in more parts, pain was feeling your skull sawn alive, pain was having your very organs pulled outside out and being shown to you. Pain was dying more times than he jacked off, pain was knowing he meant nothing to anyone but Rick. Pain was imagining the end of this night, knowing there won't be anymore. Pain was _everything_ _else_ but this. 

At some point Rick stilled, stilled as he was, buried in Morty's throat, his thrust became more languid, slower, circular. Morty's nails were digging into Rick's tights, so hard that his knuckles felt numb. He exploited the moment to try to breathe in air, to relax his throat, to not think about his gagging reflex that was pushing vomit up. Just when he attempted, Rick slid out of his mouth, allowing Morty to fall on his hands and spit and cough. 

"C'mere, d-dumbass." He heard Rick say. Slowly and weakly, Morty raised his head, still drooling copious amounts of saliva and bile on Rick's lower abdomen. He focused on the patting hand that indicated where his grandpa wanted him and although his head was spinning and his body felt like a wreck, he obediently crawled next to Rick. 

"Turn and lay down." 

Something gripped at Morty's chest and his shoulders shrank, rattling with terror. He sat there, unable to move. One side of him knew this moment _would_ eventually come. What he was surprised about was that the other half of him _didn't want_ it to happen. Because if they fucked now… if they did that… the night was going to be over. He pointed his gaze at the wrinkled sheets. "U-uh… I… I can totally take more… I didn't… you didn't…"

"S-such a whiny baby you are, for being a fucking teen that runs on hormones." Rick scooped Morty against him and rolled him on his side, drawing out a surprised yelp at the motion. 

"W-wait… w-wait Rick… it's too s-"

"R-relax, will you?" Rick's chin was leaning on top of Morty's head, breathing through his hair "Jesus Christ, you still have a shoe on, Cinder of the poor. Look at me, fucking smartest man in the universe babysitting a brat through sex." Even if Rick's voice sounded unnerved, he was still removing the shoe from Morty's feet, and the same did with the sock and what remained of his drooping jeans. Morty let him, scooting a bit closer to where the arch of his back met with Rick's hollow, thin chest. 

"Morty I'm fucking stripping you, not coddling the shit out of you. Oh... **what-fucking-ever** , keep your stupid shirt on." 

"S-says the man who's still fully clothed-"

"Next time I'm putting a goddamn gag in your mouth." 

_Ba-thump_.

"N-Next… time?" 

Morty felt Rick froze up behind him, but it lingered just a second. "N-Next-- next time you try--talk out of your a--ass, obviously. Enough chit-chat, bitch. Clasp your legs." 

Morty _really_ wanted to ask what that meant. But right now, his body felt so _high_ and burned and ached so much that all he wanted was to _come_. "P...please Rick… take off…"

"Shh. Not yet." Rick's arm circled Morty's hips, pulling him closer to his groin, where his wet cock was still throbbing with arousal. Anxiety seized Morty again, he tried to pull back, but Rick's hand kept him firmly in place. "I said clench your legs, not run away, you little moron. I'm not going to _actually_ fuck you." 

No? Why? Why not? Why? Why wasn't he going to…? 

But he couldn't ask, Rick's other hand was _finally around his_ cock. And Morty's legs automatically clenched in response, his head tilted back and his mouth opened in a soundless scream. His cock was so sensitive, so sore and neglected that the most intense wave of pleasure rattled through his body like an earthquake. "N...nhhh...no wait… take it… it hu… it hu…a...Rick...R-" 

But Rick didn't answer back, his nose was buried in Morty's hair, he felt Rick slick up his cock, which he slid between his closed legs. "S-shhh… you're gonna… g-gonna feel good soon. I'm gonna… grandpa is gonna make you feel so good. So s-shhh." 

Morty wriggled and squirmed, his mind clouded by the increasing rhythm of Rick's thrusts behind him, by the tantalizing, deep rumbling of Rick's voice in his chest, that like a soundbox echoed through Morty's back and inside of his ribcage. The calloused hand around his cock, that pumped him fast and hard and painfully. "P-please… sto- a...ah...a...st… I can't… le-let me cum… le...please… p… I can't… I...mm...g-Granpa please….p-please… R-Rick...g…"

The bed creaked _heavily_ under them, and suddenly Morty's high-pitched hiccups were in synch with his screams. Pain and pleasure meshed into a chaotic rash. He felt Rick come between his legs with a long, measured sigh. And when he did, the ring around Morty's cock clicked open. 

The orgasm was so strong, so fulfilling, so ecstatic… that Morty blacked out.

\---

He roused to the bobbing sound of Rick's Adam's apple and the strong scent of alcohol. His eyes opened slowly, aided by the soft glow of dim light, and they focused on the wall he was facing and the shadow play of Rick's silhouette, half prone on his flexed leg. Where… what… 

"You f--hhhhur-ucking passed out M-Morty and I didn't--- didn't even fuck you… you've g-g-huuuoooot the resistance of a discounted ragdoll." 

Okay. Now he remembered. "No! Oh… oh geez… time… what time… h-how long--oh...oh..." he flailed, shooting up on his ass too fast, so fast that a new surge of dizziness threatened to put him down again. 

"Pipe down, baby." Rick shifted on the bed and stood up, shook the flask close to his ear to feel if it still had contents inside, and tossed it on the floor when he deliberated it was empty. "Night's still young." 

Rick grabbed the hems of his shirt and pulled it up over his head, shaking his hair into place once he was freed of it.

Morty gawked at his back, at the scattered strikes of gore littering it and at the open gash still bleeding. Then looked down at him, realizing he was sitting on a pool of blood and cum, at which he snarled, disgusted. However, his gaze went back to Rick's back, and even knowing the man could fix it in no time by himself, the thought of having done that to him filled Morty with regret. "Rick... your…" but as he started to open his mouth, he also clamped it shut as fast. Of course, Rick _knew_ he was still bleeding and had _purposely_ left the wound there to be seen. Or Morty was simply looking too much into it and Rick hadn't just bothered to notice. 

Rick moved back to bed, his cock swinging out of his pants that he had half sloppily pulled back up at some point, but that kept falling off of his too thin, too bony hip and on which Morty's eyes fell for a long, long time, mesmerized by the messy, suggestive detail. 

"O-ooohh, _noooow_ you're _that_ interested." Rick chortled, his precarious equilibrium forcing him to sit down again. He reached out to tousle Morty's hair and Morty veered his gaze away, shamed for the billionth time, and slapped Rick's hand away just to surge forward and straddle him, both his hands pushed Rick back against the wall.

"V-Very much so… problem?" He glared. 

Rick's eyes crinkled into a smile he didn't share. He swiped his thumb on Morty's lips and inched closer. 

"I say you're more than ready for r-ouuuurh-round two." 


	9. Can't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First rule of writing is that you never introduce an item in the plot without using it. Well, now it's definitely time to use it.
> 
> This chapter is not as long as the others BUT it's an introduction to the second... we can call it "arc" of the story that will finally put all the pieces in place. 
> 
> Well... Enjoy, I guess.

"A-are you fucking done loop flashbacking, Morty? Because in exactly f-fuuurrrhh- five minutes those trees are gonna spawn new roots and _you're_ gonna go nuts on them **again**." Truth to be told, that's the fifth time he said that in the last fifteen minutes, and the only one who's grown roots around his waist is his grandson. And yes, the kid has stopped whining and thrashing like a bitch but it's now also _useless_ for every intent and purpose Rick had brought him here. 

Rick might have just knocked him out and tossed his sorry, passed out ass in the back of the ship, but he did not...yet. And that _yet_ bothers him more than it should. There have been _much too many Yets_ recently. And he is not a Y _etman._ He is a 'right now' or _'never? What the fuck is that'_ man and nothing in between. _Yet_ , something has come _in between_. 

His gaze _casually_ shifts away from Morty, and his legs bend ever so slightly to a more comfortable angle, just for _his own_ comfort, and the fact that such an imperceptible shift has made Morty fall right between Rick's lower limbs, like the piece of a jigsaw satisfyingly clicking into place, has nothing to do with it. In some way, he manages to pull out his hip-flask from his lab coat, and downs all the contents in one single swig. 

Then, for whatever reason his mouth opens again, "you knew this would happen. **All** of it." He's annoyed. His voice betrays _a great deal of it_ , and the only response he gets it's the weakest nod against his chest. Which reminds him of Beth. Of the rare times, he's had her… allowed her… to be in that same position and the regret that followed. Pftt, _regret_? The only thing he's currently regretting is not having tried that sample of _X-1243_ when he stopped at that bar. He could be high like a fucking kite on some nice shit right now. 

Instead, he's playing hurt-comfort dollhouse sitting in the middle of nothing covered in sap that stinks like vomit with a teen that decided today was the best day to try out a sample of real depression. Which is as _exciting_ as pretending to give a fuck about people. "Well," he continues, eye-rolling, "telling you _I told you so at_ this moment doesn't give me any more satisfaction than jerking off to a wall, since I don't fucking know what I told you, but I _most certainly_ did, so _I told you so."_ Which is… bullshit. As usual. But who cares. He won't. 

Morty finally tips his head forward, his chin slithers up on the slug that stains Rick's shirt and looks up. But Rick is still just keeping an eye on him from a stealthy angle, irises just barely flicking on him then going back looking at the shitty dead landscape that surrounds them. He's got that _look_ on. _Beaten-dog-asking-what-he-did-wrong_ look. And Rick should just throttle the kid and _run._

But he's not _that compassionate_ or _charitable_ , on the contrary, he enjoys very much the begging part of pretty much _everything._

But Morty doesn't beg. Morty digs his fingers into Rick's shirt and pulls back enough to stand and stretch to his full height. And cranes his neck up, attempting a kiss. An attempt that Rick nips in the bud with a sharp twist of the midriff, acting out the impeccable simulation of a badly timed try and fail. "You see that huge tree, Morty?"

"Rick?"

"...The only one that seems a _real_ fucking tree?" He doesn't allow a standoff, he climbs back on his feet as if he didn't even notice, and Morty falls back on his ass with a high-pitched _ouch._ "Th-that's their queen and inside…"

"R-Rick!"

"That trunk we get the shit we're looking for. B-but watch out Morty b-b-because-"

"You've been doing that all day!" 

And that's an inevitable _stand-off_. Good job. Good job, stupid, idiotic too fucking emotional Morty. Rick can't back down this time, because the damn kid won't let the matter go and will fucking plague Rick unless he gives in. "Oh fucking hell, fuck- fucking pain the ass. Fine!" He turns around, hands in the air. "W-what the fuck d-d-d-do you want me to say? What, Morty? What do you want me to _do_ ? You got what the hell you wanted didn't you? Then just _act accordingly. As if nothing happened._ Because **nothing** happened for me. Right? Want me to spell it out for you? Again? How many times, uh? Just throw a number because I'm going to cut a tune and rap it out until it fucking sinks in your thick, lame skull!" 

Morty's lips press into a tight line and pinch up and. His hands are fiercely balled against his hips and he looks ready, more than ready to just give Rick a piece of his mind. But all he says instead is "Okay." A very angry, distressed, okay. But one that makes Rick's unibrow inevitably twist with surprise. _Okay? That's it? That's..._ **_it?_ **

"Okay." He says again. "Let's do what you want Rick. L-let's just do it _your way._ L-let's pretend we didn't...a-a-a-almost fuck last night and that you didn't throw me into a damn car washer just so you didn't have to see the evidence. W-w-who cares? Let's… let's just go on adventures forever like bumbling idiots to fill the gap you don't want to fill. You first ask me to tell you then you don't want to know… you give me _full access_ to your memories but take them back. D-dunno… d-dunno if you're just an o-o-old psychopath o-or finally Alzheimer g-g-got you for good. O-or y-you… you know? You're just _fucking scared._ But let's do it your way and don't give a fuck! Let's get the _thing_ from the tree because that's more important. **Obviously.** " 

Rick listens. Listens in an almost _listless_ way, mouth flat, expression flat, thoughts flat. It's like listening to an old record with just one track. That sings the same song but with different voices. All he does is stick his hand in the inner pocket of his lab coat to retrieve the portal gun, shooting one open just in front of Morty. 

Morty stands before it, unmoving. Then lifts his head at Rick, giving him the saddest, surrendered smile. He's trying very hard to conceal the disappointment in his voice, but it cracks at the edges. "This is always your solution to everything." And without adding anything else, he steps into the portal.

Just when the portal closes behind Morty's back, Rick moves his gaze to the tree, which has lost all its appeal. So he turns around, moving towards the ship. "I didn't fucking need that anyway." He needs nothing, nobody. _He can't need it_. Because if he lets his guard down again if his heart dares throb just a beat faster again… he'll lose him. And he can't afford to _lose_ any more. That's why he will keep staying by Morty's side, no strings attached, no layers to it. It's much easier and better. 

He won't let anybody take Morty away from him. _Not even himself._

\---

In the end, he wound up at "home." There's no real point in going on adventures without Morty, because ' _Rick's adventures'_ sounds like the lame title of a third category, late-night show. He parks the ship and stumbles out of it, dead drunk. Honestly, he can't wait to just pass out. Or fucking die. 

Knowing himself, though, he'll just pass out and drown in an uncontrollable alcohol-induced emotional rigmarole of sobs in the only place his feet take him when he's in this state. The garage. 

However, his steps come to a halt when the very much blurry but recognizable shadow of his other grandkid slowly grows bigger on the paved driveway. He has no real interest as to why she'd be out there at that hour, her back slovenly laying against the wall and her gaze hooded in the dimmed light of her cellphone. So all he does is pass through as if they'd been there all the time. 

"I wasn't supposed to, _you know_ , be here." She starts, cool and disinterested. Pauses to send out whatever the hell she was typing, then goes on "or know at all, _I guess,_ does someone _even_ care if I do? But whatever. I don't _know_ what happened even if I have a very solid hunch. But before going in, know that _both_ moms are going to kill you. Well they won't, really, but they _might._ "

"Get to the fucking point, Summer." 

"Morty might or might not have stolen one of your gadgets and there was this gaping blue blackhole-like-shit in the living room and he's gone. Since math it's not an opinion- either it's your fault, your fault, or your fault."

He doesn't quite know why his reaction is so... poor. It's almost as if he had expected it to happen. No. He knew it would happen the very moment he fired the portal gun in front of Morty.

All he can do is sigh, and card a hand through his air.

That little shit used a time portal.

Summer detaches from the wall. " _If_ you're going to get him back can I-"

If? _If?_

He grabs Summer's wrist and _throws_ her at the front door of the house.

"Of-fucking-course I'm going to get him back! Just s-so I can _kill him."_

"Yeah, sure. _Tell it to yourself, Grandpa Rick_." She smirks, quirking a knowing brow that makes Rick want to _obliterate_ her. 

"Shut that fucking trap and go distract your twin-psycho-moms while I build a new time gun so we can fucking enact the ugly and remastered version of Back to the Future one, two and three." 

"Time travel... grandpa? **Really** _?"_

"Y-yeah," he grimaces, "tell **_me_ ** about it."


	10. Second first - Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it's taking forever to finish this shit, I decided to cut it in half so at least there's something to publish. 
> 
> Honest? I didn't even re-read it, so it's littered with ugly horrors as usual. Whatever. Enjoy or not. See you in the next lifetime, I guess.

Rick pushes up the welding goggles on the top of his head, staring with no particular interest at the intermittent, glowing blue orb flickering in his hands. 

It hasn't required more than two minutes, a few screws and bangs to reproduce the time gun, the updated version - of course - comprehensive of _gluon plasma detector_ capable to retrace the 'atomic prints' left from the twin device stolen by Morty. Now, all it's left to do is look for that little shit. 

And for a split second, something inside him whispers a bothered ' _why?'_ He could just fire a portal gun to a new dimension that has a Rickless Morty and restart from zero. 'Attachment' is the echo that follows and that pushes his brows to knit unamused on the bridge of his nose. To what, or whom, exactly? He possesses enough genetic material and memories to recreate a _perfect_ copy of the current Morty if he so much wished so. He can _select_ what he can remember, if there's something to change, even alter Morty's behavior to full subservience. He could just toss that gun in the trash and go watch a marathon of whatever will pique his interest on the interdimensional cable. There's no reason to care for _anything_ when the whole universe rides your cock like a slut. Yet. _Yet. Ironically,_ knowing makes him _know_ that the only real reason why he hasn't shot a hole in his temple _yet_ is because he gave _this_ Morty and only _this_ one, the privilege to stay by his side. 

That's all there is to it. 

"W-well," the swiveling chair under his ass cracks and rolls backward as he slackens against the backrest, ignoring the squish of the tree goo that follows. The hand that's not holding the gun reaches for his hip flask, which he downs fast, _really fast._ "L-let's see if you're still in one piece…" After punching a few codes into the contraption it starts to beep, and when coordinates finally bubble up on the monitor attached to the front of the gun, his pinched eyebrows relax. 

The corner of his mouth curls up, knowingly. Oh now, _that_ 's _interesting._ _Interesting_ is more the fact that Morty managed to make the gun work than the fact he reached whatever timeline. And it's kind of _a relief_ that the kid is dead set on following his libido rather than give a rat's ass about _logic_ , because logic would have led him _nowhere._

Rick jumps off of the seat, corks the cap of the flask and puts it away, finally firing a time portal in front of him. "Rick's onnnn, bitch! And you better be ready for that." 

\---

The portal closes behind him with a _shlup_ and it was like hopping into a ring just to land on the other side of the room. Which is basically what's happened, with twenty-four hours difference in between. The whole mess of half of his experiments littering the ground, broken and upturned it's already there, which means _they_ must have moved upstairs already. 

Instead of getting down to business immediately, Rick moves closer to his work bench and shakes his head. "Sheesh, that's very careless of you, Morty. Yo-you don't just leave these babies behind." Both the memory eraser and the time gun are sitting there, which means the one Rick is looking at is a _third_ gun and not the one Morty stole. So _that_ must go. 

And goes fast, on the floor, crushed under his shoe. 

He pockets the memory eraser and a bunch of additional paraphernalia that will definitely come in handy later and makes it to the door that gives in the house. However, the rattling sound of one of the compartments behind him stops him short. 

_Bang. Bang. Bang_.

The _moment_ Rick understands what's going on, he turns on the balls of his feet like an arrow, and _skids_ knees-to-floor just to throw the compartment open and find exactly what he expected to see.

" _Holy_ shit." 

Morty is there, naked, all tied up and gagged, bawling his eyes out and crying angry, muffled protests against the cloth stuffed in his mouth. Squirming and kicking - and for a moment Rick thinks he should stay like that. But whatever, this one is not the one he'll beat up. Therefore he scoops forward and helps the kid out of the cabinet and places him on top of the work bench. 

Rick removes the gag from Morty's mouth and he spittles and splurts up a dense, glistening off-white trail of saliva.

The _exotic_ image, Rick can't deny it, is _arousing_ in more ways than one. And it takes a _lot_ of self-control to not just say to hell with it and fuck the kid senseless on the spot. 

When Morty is finally done, his head jumps up instantaneously, and he throws himself so on the edge of the table that he almost falls off. 

"R-Rick?! W-w-w-what's happening? Who's… we were…"

"Shush-sh-shh, calm down." He reaches out, patting his hand up and down Morty's bare back. First thing first, he has to get rid of the past Morty for a while, one ding-a-ling running around with his balls flapping in the wind is enough of a pain in the ass already. 

"N-No! I was… someone attacked me… it was m-"

Rick's fingertip barely skims at the nape of Morty's neck, and the kid falls forward, pliant against Rick's chest, switching off to sleep mode like a marionette.

"G-Good boy." Rick keeps caressing his back, guiding his body supine onto the bench. "Grandpa needs you to sleep for a while, b-but I'll come back for you later, Morty. Actually, _we will."_ The whisper leaves Rick's mouth accompanied by the click of his tongue against his palate as he finally leaves the garage to get on the _real_ stage. 

The house is still, silent like when time stops, or when nobody is in it. Slowly, though, as he beelines upstairs grounding inches closer to his room, muffled noises that transpire just because a sliver of door has been left open start to fill the surrounding quiet. It's the old cot _creaking_ that makes Rick's shoulders jump over the line with _annoyance_. And the sound of Morty's voice, a mix of pain and exhilaration, is the blade that stabs something in the pits of the soulless black hole in his chest. 

But he ignores it, sinking behind a bigger maelstrom and he can't listen to that bitch _any further._ Reason why his step picks up as fast as his foot slams the door open.

The two occupants of the bedroom still at once, and Morty chokes out a strangled half moan as soon as his eyes fall on _the right version of Rick._ But after the initial bout of surprise, the kid reclines his head backward and lets it sink in the pillow under him. The tiniest smirk grazes his lips. 

Rick stares and staring makes his blood hot, makes it burble in his veins with a mix of possessivity and arousal. Morty is currently laying flipped on his belly, legs _deliciously_ coiling around the neck of the past version of Rick while the latter is tongue-deep in his asshole.

The second version of him detaches enough to slip out from Morty's ass and wipe the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. "Took your sweet sweet time." 

Oh, this is the moment Rick favors the most. When Morty's cocky smirk fades into a confused, crestfallen purse of lips. His little strained lungs fill faster now. Worry? Fear? Both maybe.

"Oh _you know me_ , I like to do shit at my own pace. What the fuck are you doing here anyway, playing Burraco or what?" He shreds off his coat and tosses it casually on a nearby chair, walking towards the bed. 

"R-Rick?" Morty investigates, his stuttering, broken mess of a mewl makes Rick's already hard cock ache in the restraining fabric of his pants. 

The other Rick grabs Morty by the waist, hauling his back flush against his chest. "Which one, baby?" He whispers, against the kid's burning ear. 

"W-w-what… what does this mean? How is it that… it seems like...mffmh…" past Rick dips a finger into Morty's mouth, and the boy's small tongue latches around it in an automatic reflex. "Oh, just stop reading too much into the stuff I do Morty. Whatever I do..." 

"I do it because _I can."_ Finishes Rick, kicking the last garment pooled around his ankle in a corner. "This is _omnipotence_ , Morty." His lips quirk upwards, into a dark smile, whilst his knee submits the mattress under the weight of his bones and he crawls closer, until he's towering on both of the other two. His hand moves on one of Morty's legs, seizing the finicky thigh in his fingers and pulling it, until the kid's short form tenses like a bridge suspended between the two Ricks. He yelps, but his mouth still works eagerly around the other Rick's finger, suckling and huffing and drooling. That little bitch's eyes are all on Rick, half-mast with tiredness, anxiety and hopeless want and Rick's mind is nicely wrapped inside of a thick layer of numbness that makes him appreciate what he sees _even more._

He and the other Rick exchange a single glance and past-Rick moves immediately, his finger slips out of Morty's mouth and the hand grabs the kid's other leg, spreading it wide and high. Morty shivers, and Rick can feel every tremor of that soft, hot skin slick with sweat under his thumb along the crazy arterial pulse of the femoral vein. "It's…" the kid swallows, eyes now alert and wide, "it's g-gonna h-h-urt right?" 

Rick's comes up closer, an angle that makes Morty's hard, weeping cock brush against Rick's chest. Morty's breath raps against Rick's mouth like that of a trapped critter, and there's nothing more _heart wrenching_ and _beautiful._ "Like a _motherfucker_ ," Rick promises, lips humming the words against Morty's parted mouth. Instead of crying and thrashing, though, Morty's hands wrap around Rick's neck with the desperation of a drowning thing, pushing their mouths together in what seems a game he already learned to master. There's no sloppy tongue snaking around Rick's, it's a confident swoosh of lips closing around it, sucking and pulling out. And Rick watches it rapt through scrunched lids, almost mystified by how good it looks and feels. And he lets Morty be in charge of this, while his hand snakes up in his hair to gather a blob of the tree sap that's still clinging there, frictioning his fingers one against another to coat them with it. 

Rick's eyes flick to the other Rick behind Morty, who responds to his glance with a knowing quirk of lips. He mouths: _thank me for that, bitch,_ before flickering the tip of his tongue along Morty's neck. At that, Morty's mouth opens wide and he puffs a moan against Rick's upper lip. It's a sound that unlikely every other one he's ever heard from the kid, throbs right into Rick's skull stealing a satisfied grunt from his throat. That makes Rick surge forward and trap Morty's mouth in his. And only _he_ knows _how long_ he has waited for this. And how fucking long he has _refrained_ from _doing it_. Why? Because _this_ will bring forth _what Rick doesn't want_ : the far-fetched illusion _that it will and can last._

It won't last. It never does. 

But it's fine. He will stymie it as soon as this is over. Like _every single time._ Because that's how it works and how it always will.

Rick's hand wraps around his stiff cock, and his gaze benumbed by alcohol and hunger follows it. He pumps his dick against the crack of Morty's ass, sliding up and down, between his baby sized ball sack and the puckering, asshole throbbing with want. _The little bitch._ **_His_ ** _little bitch._ His. His. His.

His little bitch that whimpers at the slightest touch, and looks at him with a sort of adoration that doesn't exist in their everyday life. Morty hates him and he does that with a _passion_ that borders on obsessive need. Like a self-proclaimed atheist that prays to whatever God when he's knee-deep in shit. Rick, he's _a magnanimous_ God. And an even more _magnanimous_ grandfather, if his cock is what Morty wants, then by all means, he will give it to him. And so he does, his hand runs on Morty's outer thigh, trapping the kid's leg between his hip and elbow, and his pelvis pushes up and in, slipping inside Morty's tight, tight ass with ease. Morty gurgles a yell in Rick's mouth. Rick bites Morty's lower lip hard, until it bleeds, and their eyes meet again. Morty blinks away tears that are not of pain, he glides on Rick's chin until his tiny lips are trembling against it. "Yo-you liar." It's a very wanton ragged whisper, one mixed with confusion and relief. 

"O-h but I'm not, Morty. I assure you i-it will hurt like a bitch... _later."_ He winks at him, recoiling just a few inches back out of Morty's ass, "tr-tree sap, _baby_. - Ohfuckyourethightashell- You get a ride to heaven for the next two hours and then a one-way ticket to hell when it wears off." 

"F-fair en-- s-s-oh...o-h... N-No don't... don't, Rick...dee-goo deeper… dee...oh-oh- **oh!** " the plea ends up muffled against Rick's shoulder when Morty drops chin-first on it, hugging Rick's neck tight. Past-Rick has joined the fray, and now his hand is playing with Morty's cock, Rick can feel his own fingers grazing against his belly. 

"Lay down old bastard, I gotta fuck something before my balls rot." 

"Get a ticket, bitch. This lil' ass is crowded." 

"I'll just have to make you _uncrowd it fast then._ 'm gonna fuck your old, wrinkled ass so hard you're gonna cum like a baby. So get the fuck **down."**

" _You know_ you'd have more luck if you banged the Mariana Trench, but _you do me_." He chuckles, falling on his back and pulling Morty down with him, and burying himself in him to the hilt, gaining a strangled, high-pitched moan as a reward. "Fuck!" It slides in so _nice_ ly, so fucking nicely, fitting like a glove. And tight. Tight. Young and tight and _virgin._ "L-look at you on top your first time, th-that's grandpa's boy. Grandpa's little boy. S-it up on m- now sit." 

Morty trembles like a just-born fawn and his eyebrows draw in a frown. "I'm not... l-little anymore y-y-ou know?" Fast learner when he wants. His arms uncoil from around Rick's neck and he slowly pushes himself upright, biting his half shredded, bleeding lip. His hands adjust on Rick's chest. 

"Noted for when - oh, yes, like that baby, - y-you get rid of that prepubescent shriek. Hellllll yeah. You're such a good boy M-Morty." He hisses, helping himself on his elbow, whilst the other arm releases Morty's leg and grabs the base of his cock keeping it firm as the kid lowers himself on it. "Yes, fuuck, like that. Ffffffuck yes. You're so on it, baby." 

As Morty finally settles on his lap with a low, long moan, past-Rick hauls Rick's ass upwards enough to spear him dry. And it's true that his ass hasn't truly felt stuff in centuries, desensitised by his secondary, if not primary, passepartout function--- however, true is also that _himself_ is the only one that knows _where to_ lunge and how. And it hits with surgical precision on his prostate, which may be closer to death than Rick himself is, but works like a charm when manhandled in the right way. He flops back on the mattress with a low, pained growl, and spreads his legs, both hands fly on Morty's hips to impale the kid on his cock. Deeper, faster. And it's _deliriously_ his thing. _Morty_ is. Every jump of his hard, little cock on Rick's stomach, every whimper and debauched moan. 

And the way he twists and writhes, how his mouth opens wide and that rivulet of drool makes Morty's lip glisten when he tries to clamp them shut. But can't. "R-Rick I-I can't take- any-I'm... **oh** ... **_o-o-ah_ ** ...gonna-- _mhh_ " 

Rick teeth are bared and hot puffs of condense leave his flaring nostrils, "oh oh yes, _you can…_ " it's a low hiss that precedes a gruffed sigh, Rick pelvis cants up in synch with his ass being repeatedly pierced by the other Rick. _"Oh fuckfuckfuckfuck..._ **_God_ ** _...Morty---_ you ca- **will**. You fucking will. Come baby, come on grandpa's lap. Come for grandpa."

"No, he _won't_." A sudden hand wraps around Morty's cock, it squeezes its base hard, tearing a pained cry from Morty's lungs. Past Rick emerges like a shadow from behind Morty, his other arm draping possessively around _their_ grandkid's waist whilst his hips slow to a bored lull of half-assed swings against Rick's ass. A lazy and nasty curve pulls up his mouth.

Rick eyebrow inches dangerously close to the tip of his nose and his eyes scrunch. The aching arousal building up in his belly cools down abruptly with the last, angry thrust of his pelvis. 

"Pl- let m..." Morty's whine is weak, actually sounds more like a sleepy drunk murmur as he flops with the back of his head against past-Rick's chest, he's feverishly biting his lips. Eyebrows pulled down, sorrowful and pleading. One of his hands coils around past-Rick's hand, trying to free his needy cock from the painful vise. But it's so pitiful that it's enough a flick of his other self's index to make the kid desist.

There's a pause in between, filled just with Morty calling out his name. Rick veers his gaze on him for a second, a fleeting beat in which it softens and his lip crooks fondly… and the whirring sound in his right arm springs to life, splitting flesh to churn out a golden bone of metal. 

It's a _flash_. A whip of shoulder that freezes time to a stand off. His palm points open at the other Rick frontal lobe, frazzling with static tendrils. In the same way, the other mirrors him. _Of course he does._ The redolent smell of burnt hair fills his flaring nostrils, as a few strands fall in the corner of Rick's visual range. "Of all _the fucking_ times you could pick to get _dehhhhurfective_ \---" 

"I pick _the perfect_ one." The other concludes. 


End file.
